


Happenstance

by Clara_Midwinter, Coffee_Reveries



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2020-08-13 18:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20178418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clara_Midwinter/pseuds/Clara_Midwinter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffee_Reveries/pseuds/Coffee_Reveries
Summary: "Happenstance", from the English language; something coincidental, that happens by chance. Happenstance easily describes the moment in which Hermione Granger and Harry Potter find each other again after 15 long years, on the doorsteps of the village of Amberley's only primary school. Perhaps it's happenstance as well that they happen to find love, and two families become one. H/Hr.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks for all the heart-warming birthday wishes and the lovely reviews to this story!

_Chapter One_

Hermione Granger, as everyone who was familiar with her knew, had always been an advocate for learning and education, but in her heart, on this morning of September 1st, 2014 there was a tightness in her chest as she watched her only child eagerly prepare for her first day of primary school, downing orange juice in one go and running about with a slice of marmalade toast around the house.

"Mummy, my shoes!" She heard the cry, all the way from upstairs, as Bea's socked feet thumped against the wooden floorboards of above.

Hermione promptly pulled her wand out of her curls and accioed the red-varnish ballet flats, so lovely and shiny Hermione could see her own reflection on the leather. Her daughter had a vanity that it seemed Hermione would never possess.

She needn't waste her breath calling, as in seconds Beatrice appeared before her, dressed in the plaid blue dress with puff-sleeves and the school crest, as well as two pieces of red ribbon and a comb in hand. Hermione helped her into the red cardigan, but couldn't help but roll her eyes and internally groan at the task that would be braiding her daughter's wild curly hair in two plaits.

"How about just a ponytail, darling?" She tried, her voice soft and sweet in order to convince her child. The six-year-old simply shook her head at the proposition, a big fat 'no' leaving her lips. "And how about just a single French braid instead of two?"

Bea's response was to furrow her eyebrows and cluck her tongue in annoyance, little arms crossing over her chest and feet stomping the floor, however not _too_ defiantly as she knew her mother would never have it.

"_Ugh_, all right, Beatrice, but don't you dare think I'll do this every day!"

It took them pulling, tugging, untangling and quite a bit of tears before they could be out the door twenty minutes later, Beatrice looking as impeccable as ever in her uniform, sporting her polka-dotted backpack, the much desired braids secured in red ribbon completing the Dorothy-esque look.

Hermione climbed onto her vintage yellow bike and Bea hopped on the back, more than ready for them to start their small pilgrimage into town and towards Queen Anne's Primary School.

Neither exertion nor the cool morning breeze hitting Hermione's cheeks could subside the feeling in her chest that meant time was passing all too quickly for her liking and that before she'd notice, her darling Bumble-Bee would be a grown woman herself, and Merlin how _that_ irrationally hurt.

The road to school was winding, but not long as it passed stone cottages with thatched roofs along the way, all of them quite similar to Hermione's own. Beautifully tended-to gardens boasted the last of the summer blooms, the trees were only beginning to take on warm autumnal hues and wherever mother and daughter passed that they came across one or another neighbor, there were waves and shouts of 'good morning' or 'good luck on your first day!'.

The village of Amberley in West Sussex was indeed a small and quaint little thing, most of the dwellers elderly folk and though for Hermione who'd always been a city girl it hadn't been easy to adapt, she was for once truly and utterly happy, a fact that she considered a feat. Her separation hadn't been easy, hell, heartbreak hadn't been easy, nor had been leaving the city of Edinburgh, her home for so long. The greatest pain had been witnessing Bea's due to the absence of her father, but now, three years later, many tears and sleepless nights later, life was good.

Amberley was home now, their old little cottage and it's rickety stairs was home; their tall and fragrant apple tree was home and so were the tea leaves, wildflowers, bird houses and the vast field of poppies and chamomiles just past the low stone fencing of their cottage that curved downwards into a hill where the pure water of a river stream splashed against mossy stones along its path to disembogue in the Arun river.

They arrived at the school with bright red cheeks, Hermione a bit out of breath. She parked the bicycle under a large tree and helped her daughter off. When she looked at Bea, she no longer saw the little girl bubbling with excitement from minutes earlier, but one with big, nervous brown eyes staring back at her from long lashes, her lips curved into a worried pout. She felt a rush of emotion spread through her body and she couldn't help but crouch down into her little girl's level, pulling her in for a tight and reassuring embrace.

"I know you're nervous, darling and it's perfectly fine… You'll be fine and I'm sure you'll be a wonderful student…" She cooed as Bea wrapped her little arms around her neck, burying her face into the curve of her shoulder.

"What if no one likes, me mummy?" Hermione exhaled deeply. She knew that type of insecurity very well, she'd felt it all her life but especially in her girlhood, one in which for the most part she was a bookish little outcast.

"You're smart, funny, beautiful… Who wouldn't like you? And even if it's hard during the first days to make friends, don't you worry, everything will fall into place and you won't be lonely too long." Hermione kissed Bea's temple tenderly, running her fingers along her cheek. "Do you trust me, Beatrice?" The girl nodded vigorously, still looking every bit afraid. "Good, now where's mummy's kiss?"

Beatrice pressed her lips against Hermione's as they normally did when bidding each other goodbye. The head teacher was at the doorstep, waving kindly at the new students and asking them their names.

"Beatrice H. Bell, you're in Ms. Andrew's class, lucky girl-she's wonderful!" The older woman whispered as if only in Bea's confidence, sensing her nervousness. Hermione mouthed a thank you to the lady and watched as her daughter passed through the wide green doors, stopping only to wave back at her mum one last time. Hermione waved in return and blew her a kiss.

…

He'd just dropped his Lily in her classroom door, little May sobbing in his arms because she wanted to go to school just like her older sister when he swore he saw a familiar head of light brown curls, almost golden in the sunlight. She wore a pair of jeans and a striped multicolored jumper, a small leather backpack strapped on. He watched as she climbed onto one of those lovely vintage bicycles and pedalled away. The angle hadn't permitted him to see much of her face, but he knew, he simply knew it could only be her.

Fifteen years had passed and she still looked much the same, but what were the odds that out of all the countries in the world and the cities of England he would find her here, in Amberley, at the steps of his daughter's muggle school? Nevertheless, seeing her shifted something inside him… It was unsettling to say the least.

What could he possibly say to her? Did they still have anything in common? Was she married? Was her favourite book still Hogwarts, a History? Would she even want to see or talk to him, after so many years? Questions and more questions swam around his brain that he didn't even pay mind to May's incessant crying, drowning it out. He set the little redhead on the ground, still dressed in her plush pajamas, a pair of crocs on her feet and she stopped crying of her own accord, staring curiously at him with those bright hazel eyes as he took hold of her tiny hand and walked with her home, in silence, lost in his thoughts.

Of all the things that could have happened today, being Lily's first day, this was the furthest from his expectations. He'd more easily expect a dragon to burn down his house or for goblins to steal the moon than this, running into her after so long. He felt guilt as well, among other things, for at some point he'd stopped answering her letters, until they stopped coming altogether and they became completely and utterly lost in the world to one another.

Cardboard boxes and his leather school trunk littered the small house he'd just moved into-the only possessions he still had left after departing from Canada, from the entire life he'd built for himself there. He couldn't stand it anymore, it wasn't home, only had been while his wife, herself a Canadian was still with them. But three long years had passed since her death and the more time passed the more living there became torture. He had no roots in Canada other than Sarah, he had no friends that weren't mutual friends; he had no neighbors who looked at him with something besides pity. He hadn't a job he was particularly fond of.

And then when his father-in-law also passed, a month ago, there were no more excuses for staying. Bernard had left him this cottage that had been in their family for generations, the Walsh family's only remaining tie to England. And so having no other place to run back to, he came and very quickly fell in love with the place.

The house needed work, windows to be repaired, wallpaper to be replaced, plumbing, salvaging the garden, fixing a section of the roof… He looked forward to it all, making this place into his home. After years of living in a sort of limbo, he finally felt free again, energized, he looked forward to this new beginning to see his daughters grow up in a comfortable, loving home, having a garden to play in, a nice school, the sort of happy childhood he hadn't been privy to and that until this day he carried the scars of, literal and figurative.

He turned on the telly where Charlie & Lola was on and May was happy to sit on the armchair with her quilt and watch. He prepared her a bowl of porridge and set it in front of her with a spoon.

"Eat up, sweetheart…" He urged her tenderly, running his fingers through her ginger curls.

"I miss Lily…" He nodded in understanding and pressed a kiss on her head.

"I miss her too, but now, we'll have to make do with one another for a few hours. Would you like to help me in the garden later?" May loved the garden, the mud, picking dandelions and hunting for invisible fairies in the hedges. Her face lit up at the proposition, eyes shining in delight.

"Yes, daddy…" He couldn't help but smile at his youngest, one of the two loves of his life.

"I'll be upstairs in my study if you need me…" She nodded and pushed a spoonful of the warm porridge into her mouth, turning her attention back to her show.

He climbed up the stairs, his heart beating fast. He needed to find them, her letters, he needed to find them… They were somewhere in these boxes. He began to open each one, frantically rummaging inside for cream colored muggle envelopes tied with ribbon in a small stack. It was another half-hour before he came across them, inside a book that she'd gifted him with upon Lily's birth. It was "The Secret Garden" by Frances Hodgson Burnett, one of his daughters' favourites.

He opened the book and read the inscription, her neat, elegant cursive handwriting in black ink. The words brought tears to his eyes, because he'd missed his best friend ever too much.

'_For darling Lily, in the hopes that you'll one day find a secret garden of happiness and love of your own. Yours, Hermione.'_


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Miss Andrew's classroom wasn't too large in size, but it was quite nice-looking to those who entered it. The walls were a light blue with painted white clouds and the classroom door was of a bright and glossy yellow on the inside. The teacher's desk was next to a large window with a shelf underneath it bearing a few flower pots, knick-knacks that were gifts from former students and a large pencil holder. Her desk had a pink table lamp and the chair seemed comfortable enough. Behind her was a large blackboard with the words '_Welcome to Year 1!_' written in neat round letters.

"Good morning, children! Please, go ahead and choose your seats!" The children, all looking a little bit lost and a little bit nervous looked around and at each other, before a little boy wearing glasses rushed to take the desk in the very front row.

Lily had her eye on the desk by a large window, on the other side of the classroom, from where she could look out to the playground and gardens. She smiled to herself and hurried to it before any of the other kids took the perfect seat from her. However, as she was almost reaching the spot, she bumped into a curly-haired boy and was beat to it by another girl whose light brown hair were in the prettiest braids Lily had ever seen.

"I wanted that seat…" Lily muttered, with a frown, so upset she might even cry. The girl with braids' eyes widened as her brown eyes landed on Lily.

"_Oh._ I didn't know, I'm sorry." She barely looked at Lily as she scrambled out of the seat and sat in the only remaining desk behind her, which still had a view of the window, just not as good. Lily was surprised the girl had allowed her to keep her desired seat and thought that perhaps school wouldn't be nearly as bad as she thought.

"Th-thank you for letting me sit here." Lily said with a shy smile. She opened her backpack and pulled out her brand new pencil box and gave the girl the only chocolate frog she had which was inside. It was a treat daddy had given her for today's lunch hour, to celebrate her first day. She knew it wasn't something she should give anyone as it was a top secret special chocolate, but the girl had been kind. "I'm Lily Potter!"

"_Oh, Lily, but it's a chocolate frog!_" The girl enthused though in a whisper, with a huge grin and twinkling dark eyes, "I'm only allowed them on the weekends, mummy brings them for me from London when she goes…" She felt so happy that the nerves she'd been feeling just now completely melted away. She slipped the chocolate frog inside her cardigan pocket, patting it appreciatively, "I'm Beatrice, but everyone calls me Bea."

…

The day was nice and pleasant enough that Hermione felt the urge to cycle the thirty or so minutes to the town of Arundel. She enjoyed the fresh air in her lungs, the sensation of freedom it gave her, as the wind blew back her curls. She also loved the adrenaline of the narrow, curvy road and having to swerve from cars and giant trees along the way. Arundel was a fairytale city, it's what Hermione and Beatrice both felt anyway, so it was no surprise that the bustling historical area surrounding Norfolk Castle was rapidly becoming Diagon Alley's rival in terms of wizarding commerce and economy, as well as an area that greatly attracted wizarding tourists from all over who wished to enjoy the quaint English countryside, the fields of flowers that grew in West Sussex and the cozy bed & breakfasts in Arundel and surroundings.

The accessibility of roads and train stations also attracted muggle tourists to the area, so whichever way she turned, muggle or magical, Hermione and her beloved _Bewitchery_ were winning. Sales were good and, of course, so was the flow of customers, which had prompted her to enlist even her mum to help her in the shop after her retirement from dentistry. Hermione's great pride was that her enterprise marked the very entrance of Castle Crescent, but unlike the other glamoured strictly magical shops, hers was also accessible to muggles who wished to buy medicinal and herbal teas, scented candles, natural soaps and perfumes that she either produced or imported. The handicraft and vintage factor in terms of packaging, branding and decoration helped wonders and often enough people would enter to take photographs or sometimes even make reservations to hold private tea parties and celebrations.

The second floor of her ancient building was now a mix of wizarding bookshop à la Flourish & Blotts, but with Hermione's special eye for rarities and international titles of varying subjects. There was also an entire section dedicated to wizarding curios and a wide arrangement of products that went from trinkets and gifts to antiques, flying broomsticks, paintings and handmade crystal and gemstone jewelry. It was from the large Victorian Era fireplace from upstairs that wizards and witches from all over Britain could floo into Castle Crescent, having to go down only a flight of backstairs to access the small but charming shopping square. This second floor was the so-called _Restricted Section_, and Hermione had always been quite fond of those. The third and top floor was accessed through a manual iron elevator, so small it could only fit two at a time. It comprised of a smaller-sized area which contained a rooftop with stunning views of the castle and historic Arundel. It was something of a slowly on-going project, though Hermione had been improving the infrastructure and building a rooftop garden with Neville Longbottom's guidance. Hermione wasn't sure of the purpose it would serve but was nevertheless waiting for the perfect idea to hit her. Meanwhile, she was busy enough.

As on every morning, Hermione found her mother already wearing their signature apron and perched behind the wood and glass antique counters, the entire back wall covered with small niches, drawers, boxes, delicate glass jars and little wicker baskets containing their herbs, dried leaves and potion ingredients. Her mum's silver curls were piled up on her head in a Brigitte Bardot fashion, with flowers and more flowers wondrously giving her mum a look of belonging to the shop's decoration. She was just finishing up with a young wizarding couple replenishing on household herbs when Hermione walked in, putting on her own apron.

"Morning, love!" Rosalind Granger called with a smile and a little wave as she nodded her customers goodbye. "How was our Bea's first day?" Hermione smiled.

"A rollercoaster of emotions, mum, but I'm certain she'll survive." Rosalind nodded, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

"Good, good-I'm certain she will. Speaking of survival, though, a Mr. Fletcher came by asking for you…" She raised her eyebrow knowingly in that way that mothers did when they indiscreetly 'implied' that perhaps there could be hopes of romance for their spinster daughters. "I'm sure I needn't remind you of the _perks_ of having one of the opposite sex…" Her mother's smile was bordering on obnoxious.

"Rosalind Granger, what did you _do_?" Hermione's mother wore a smile as sly as a fox's on her face, eyes sparkling with mischief, no different from her little granddaughter despite the sixty years between them.

"I said, _oh_, Mr. Fletcher, my daughter will be _delighted_ to go on a third date with you-you do know what a third date implies, don't you, Hermione? And heaven _knows_ you need it!" Hermione's eyes went wide in horror and she could hear Olivia's giggles all the way from the tea room upon hearing Rosalind's outrageous words. Hermione didn't have time to release the much desired and angry string of curses towards her mother as a swarm of customers flooded in that they had to attend to.

...

Hours later, they were sat on the rooftop enjoying their lunch break with some lasagna, salad and iced-tea courtesy of Rosalind. The afternoon breeze and the view were just what Hermione needed to replenish her energies and wind down for a bit.

"What do you think of him, truly?" Olivia asked her out of the blue, sipping her drink.

Olivia was the closest thing Hermione had to a younger sister, no, actually they _were_ sisters, just not the conventional sort. Olivia had been adopted by the Granger's in Australia after they'd been sent there by Hermione herself. Of course Rosalind had been Monica Watkins then and her father, Richard, had been a Wendell. Olivia was eight-years old and then nearly a decade old by the time Hermione located her parents in Melbourne, which meant going through the shock of discovering herself no longer an only child, and meant a shock for Olivia as well, for everything until that point had been a fabrication. Nevertheless, Monica or Rosalind, Wendell or Richard, they were the parents Olivia had always dreamt of and quickly the whole Watkins ordeal became a thing of the past. She'd returned with them to England as Olivia Granger, and had been so ever since.

"Eric?" The twenty-four year old nodded. "He's nice. Fun to talk to, great to look at, I don't know… Perhaps it's too soon to know for sure?"

"You know I'm no expert of the things of the heart," Olivia was actually an expert serial-dater and a Cambridge undergraduate in the Romance languages too, but _actual _committed romance? "But, shouldn't you be feeling something for him? Sexual desire or just wanting to spend time with him? Does he make your heart flutter, that sort of ridiculous thing?"

"It's a good question…" Rosalind added, looking at her eldest with curiosity. "You're young, brilliant, beautiful-I worry, you know. Life shouldn't end because your marriage ended in divorce, there are millions of men in the world… However, you must open your heart to it, my darling, or a second chance at love might escape you entirely!"

"I know mum, I know… I just-Eric is lovely, I enjoy his company, I really do, but I often wonder if that's enough to let him in, not for my sake but for his own. I've baggage mum, and it's not a lot of people who are capable of understanding or accepting, even… And I'm not just referring to Bea. I still have nightmares sometimes, about the war, about things that happened, things that _could_ have happened. Eric is a perfect porcelain teacup, I, on the other hand, am not. I have cracks and I've been pieced back together with super glue…"

"Well cheers to _that_ most brilliant analogy!" Olivia exclaimed sarcastically, raising her glass. Hermione couldn't help but let out a dry laugh. It was bitter, but it was the truth.

Rosalind reached out and squeezed her daughter's hand.

"Come to me, love, you can always come to me." Her eyes were beginning to turn watery, but Hermione decided she would have none of that. Their family had suffered far too much due to her life as a witch and her troubles, they all still suffered, but they had come a long way and the love they felt for one another was much, much greater than the darkness and resentments of the past. Hermione squeezed her mum's hand in return and then curved up in a sincere smile.

"I'll go on that dinner date this evening, if one of you agrees to fetch Bea from school…" She eyed her sister with those big doe eyes that she used when convenient and Olivia rolled her own blue ones.

"Mum's the doting granny, she'll do it. Pick up is at three o'clock isn't it?" Hermione nodded with a chuckle as Rosalind turned to glare at her youngest.

"Olivia Mary, I have a date with your father to the pictures!" She protested.

"Choose a cartoon, then!" With that, Olivia sauntered off carrying their lunch dishes to the kitchen sink, which Hermione had conveniently charmed to do the washing up automatically.

"That sister of yours, _honestly_…" Rosalind muttered under her breath, but Hermione wasn't blind to the smile forming on her mum's face. "Have fun with, Eric, darling… And do us a favor and look pretty?"

"I'll think about it, Rosalind…" Her mum smiled capriciously as they entered the ancient lift, way passed the time to reopen _Bewitchery's_ doors for the afternoon crowd.

…

Hermione was just finishing up with the cashier when Eric waltzed in looking smart in his work suit. His strawberry blonde hair was a bit more out of place than usual, as it probably had been a long day at the law firm. He was handsome though, so handsome he was bordering on sinful as he smiled at Hermione with both his mouth and the bright green of his eyes. For some reason she'd always had an attraction to green-eyed men, and Eric Fletcher's weren't lacking in beauty, although if Hermione was perfectly honest, no pair of green eyes could ever match those of her friend Harry's… Those haunted her even today.

"Hopefully, your mother let you know of our date?" Hermione rolled her eyes and half-snorted, which made him laugh. She was quite something, Hermione Granger. Eric then remembered the small bundle of flowers he was carrying and handed them over to her. She took them with an appreciative sigh, taking in their delicious scent. It was a mix of deep-magenta dahlias, sunflowers and peach-colored gerbera daisies, bright, summery and lovely.

Hermione rounded the counters and a part of her hoped to surprise him, as she'd swapped clothes with her sister last minute and now found herself in a pretty and lively green halter dress which she'd transfigured to pass her knees for decency's sake. On her feet were leather and not-too-high platform sandals, tied to her ankles, and she managed to do something about her curls with bobby pins. It was all very simple and casual, but good enough for an early-evening outing. She felt rather out of place for these things, like she was somehow too old for the whole dating scenario… But like her mum had said, Hermione needed to make an effort, not because of Eric, but because of herself.

It was far too easy for the always self-sufficient Hermione Granger to dig herself her own pit of solitude and misery in the name of independence, but even she was aware of the fact that she wouldn't always have Beatrice around to make her company at home, and that the age of thirty-five, as she was just about to turn, was the new twenty... This according to Olivia.

"You look beautiful…" Eric complimented, and Hermione believed him as he took her hand into his and walked her the three blocks down to the small Italian tavern that she loved, complete with stringed lights and tables and chairs set on the sidewalk. They chose however to sit inside, by the window, as the evening promised to turn chilly.

Vivaldi's was a pleasure and Hermione always appreciated how it was right across the narrow cobblestone road to the playground where she often brought Bea to play when in Arundel, with it's huge centennial tree right in the middle. The sun was still yet to set and parents watched as their children played. It made her long for home, for her daughter whose first day of school had been today. Hermione wanted to hear all about it as they munched on cookies and sipped on warm milk before bed. She wanted to snuggle with Bea in her room as they watched the _Wizard of Oz_ for the millionth time. She longed to feel the watermelon scent of her children's shampoo, letting her girl's light snoring lull her to sleep.

Conversation was easy and ordering had taken a matter of seconds, Hermione always asked for the same thing: spaghetti al ragù with a side of salad and garlic bread, accompanied by a nice bottle of _Barbera d'Asti._ Hermione wasn't a snob, but she sure as hell knew her wine and Eric was duly impressed.

A bit over an hour later, right when dessert arrived, Eric's cell phone rang and he excused himself to go outside to answer it, explaining that it was from an important client. As soon as he turned around, Hermione relaxed into her chair and took a bite of her apple pie with vanilla ice cream, savoring it as she always did. She stared out the window towards the 7 o'clock sun beginning to set and her eyes once again landed on the playground. She watched the parents with their smiling and energetic children, hoping this date could end already, as surprisingly pleasant as it was, so she could apparate home. That's when a certain head of raven caught her eye. He wore a dark sweater but it was his scarf of yellow and deep red that made her lean forward to get a better look. He had a small redheaded girl with him, no older than four from what she could tell, and he was tossing her in the air playfully, making her laugh and giggle with utmost delight. Hermione couldn't help but smile. When he turned on his side, however, and she noticed the shape of his nose and the glasses on his face, it was as though she'd gone cold and stopped breathing altogether. Hermione knew that face, she _knew_ that perpetually messy hair, that smile, that scarf, that face… It was him, and for a long moment she thought herself hallucinating.

She nearly jumped out of her chair when it fully dawned on her that it was indeed him, almost knocking said chair over on the floor. She could tell he was about to leave and watched as another little girl albeit with black hair like his, took his hand happily. It was Harry, it was Hermione's Harry… She felt she might burst from excitement and joy.

And then she felt it slowly invade her mind, her insecurities and she felt a tightness in her chest, butterflies flying about her stomach, though not pleasantly.

Did he know she lived around here? Would Harry even be interested in seeing her again?

Hermione would be lying if she said Harry Potter hadn't broken her heart a bit when he'd stopped answering her letters, until her pride got the best of her and she quit sending them some five years ago, in a time where Beatrice had still been a baby.

Before she could run after Harry, however, Eric unknowingly blocked Hermione's passage and her confusion and mess of feelings were such that she couldn't muster any words or coherent thought, allowing herself to be tenderly led back to their dinner table, even though it wasn't her heart's desire.

...

A while later Hermione arrived home. All was dark and silent but for the yellowy light of the lampshade on the end table by the sofa. She climbed up the stairs and found her parents already fast asleep in the guest bedroom, having left a crack in the door just in case Bea needed them. Hermione's daughter, however, was spread out on Hermione's bed, her stuffed bunny tucked under her chin. Hermione kicked off her sandals, slipped off the green dress and pulled each bobby pin out of her hair until her mass of curls were completely free. She walked towards the small porcelain washbasin behind the Moroccan screen and splashed some water on her face, slipping on her silk camisole that she'd left hanging this morning. Her mind was reeling from shock and really, as much as she tried to take solace in her baby girl's snores and in the delicious scent of her hair, there would be nothing capable of making her sleep tonight… Not when Harry Potter was all she could think about. Minutes or hours later Beatrice stirred.

"Mummy," Beatrice mumbled, half-asleep.

"Yes, bumble-bee?"

"I made a friend today…" Hermione couldn't see it, but she knew by the way her daughter said it that there'd be a drunken-with-sleep smile on her daughter's face. "Her name's Lily and she gave me a chocolate frog..." That was all the confirmation Hermione needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to review!!!


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

When he went down the stairs at half-past six in the morning, Richard Granger didn't expect to find his daughter nursing a glass of whiskey, sitting alone on the window-seat that overlooked her garden and the meadows behind her house. It took him aback slightly because he had a hard time picturing his Hermione as a full-grown woman at times. His daughter would always be his baby and to see her troubled like this, nursing a hard drink alone and in the earliest of hours… Something was not right.

"Date didn't go so well, I gather?" Richard asked, startling her. He took a seat beside her and tucked a curl behind her ear.

"I-the date was nice enough dad, but my heart wasn't entirely in it… I'm not sure it ever will be." Richard nodded in understanding. "Eric's not what's upsetting me if that's what you're thinking."

"_Oh._ Is it mum's pressuring you then?" Hermione's eyes shifted to his and caught that knowing twinkle in the brown eyes she'd inherited from him. She shook her head and leaned into her father, hooking her arm around his and laying her head on his shoulder.

"I saw Harry yesterday, dad, you remember him..." Richard sighed deeply and nodded. Harry Potter had dominated most of Hermione's life from almost the moment they met. The boy had been the main cause for her fighting in their war, for his daughter being hurt. But Richard learned with time that it hadn't been Harry's fault, and he realized that Hermione, being the woman she was would never bow away from what she thought was right. "His daughter is in Bea's class…" A part of him was shocked, what were the odds that he'd be living in these parts, with the whole world at his beck and call, but another part of him was deeply sentimental, and he knew that it could only be fate bringing his daughter and Harry closer together again.

"What are you going to do about it? Are you going to talk to him?" Richard knew how Hermione had always missed Harry and had long come to terms with the fact that Harry Potter would forever be an important chapter of his daughter's life. They'd grown up together, had been best friends, fought in battle together... They had history, a history his daughter still held on to.

"There's nothing I want more, dad, but what if he doesn't want to see me?" Richard sighed deeply and leaned away from her a bit, holding Hermione's chin so she'd look him in the eyes.

"Hermione, Harry owes you his life… I hadn't the chance of getting to know him so well, but if he's anything like you paint him out to be, he'll want nothing more than to see you too." Richard kissed his daughter's cheek and got up, making his way towards the kitchen to get a headstart on breakfast. "Do you think you could perhaps go to the bakery for us? Some fresh bread would be nice." Hermione nodded, still thinking about her father's words.

She absentmindedly slipped on a casual floral dress over her camisole, put on a random cardigan that'd been hanging on a hook by the door and grabbed the small leather backpack she usually carried her wallet in. When she passed the door to the tiny front porch she slipped on the flats she'd left there and ridden off on her bicycle as if on auto-pilot, her mind entirely elsewhere. In just a few minutes she parked her bike in front of Mrs. Haversham's delicatessen and made a beeline for the fresh bread. The aroma was absolutely delicious and there were few things Hermione delighted in more than warm Italian bread just out of the oven.

"Good morning, Miss Granger!" The lady, Mrs. Haversham greeted her from where she stood behind the counter. She was a clever lady of at least seventy years who'd arrived in England as a child, following the war. Her family was Jewish Germans who'd been persecuted and West Sussex had seemed like the perfect nondescript place to resettle. Mrs. Haversham's eyes were the bluest Hermione had ever seen and though marked by age, you could tell from her face that she once had been very beautiful.

"Good morning, ma'am, how's the bread today?" The old woman smiled.

"Jolly good, as always!" Hermione selected three loaves of bread and brought them to the counter to be paid for. She thanked Mrs. Haversham and was about to leave when the lady stopped Hermione on her tracks.

"We've new neighbors in town, did you know?" Hermione turned around and with a smile feigning surprise, shook her head.

"Really? In Amberley?"

"Yes, indeed! He's about your age, I believe, a pity really, far too young to be a widower. Two lovely little girlies. They're at Turtledove Cottage, just a few blocks from where you are..." Hermione felt a bundle of emotions she wasn't prepared for. The first was the shock and terror that came with discovering Harry to be living just a ten-minute walk from her house. The second, was a sense of sadness for him as she knew how much he adored his wife Sarah, and though Hermione had never personally met the woman, they'd exchanged a few letters to try and get to know one another when Harry and Sarah were still newlyweds. Hermione could still remember her pretty and loopy handwriting, always written in dark-green ink. She remembered Sarah's big contagious smile from a photograph with Harry, her belly already showing signs of Lily, as well as warm hazel eyes and short blonde hair in a fashionable cut, surrounded by the Canadian tulips. Hermione also remembered her heart breaking a little bit more each time they wrote, because a part of her wished it had been herself in that photograph instead of Sarah, and deep down she always wished those letters of green ink never existed.

"That's a shame about his wife, hopefully, I'll meet him myself soon," Hermione weakly mustered, after a moment of deep introspection. She farewelled the elderly woman and rushed out on her bike.

All Mrs. Haversham could think of now were Miss Granger's saddened eyes and the spark of recognition in them as she'd relayed her gossip. The old woman's curiosity was piqued, and now she was curious to discover what link Hermione and the widower could possibly have to one another. A torrid past love affair, perhaps? Or maybe he could be the mysterious father of young Beatrice, the one Hermione had always been so secretive about? Mrs. Haversham was curious indeed.

…

On that Tuesday morning, Harry was a man on a mission. He'd jumped out of bed an hour earlier than usual and by the time Lily's alarm clock rang breakfast was on the table, her uniform was perfectly pressed and laid out for her to wear along with her socks and new pink converse sneakers. He opened the yellow curtains in May's room to let the sunshine through so that she'd wake up with the warmth on her face and in a better mood than when he did the waking abruptly. By the time the small clock hand in the kitchen landed on the 8 am, they were all looking as nice as ever, walking towards the school.

Lily and May skipped about the sidewalk happily, talking and giggling as sisters did when not pulling each other's ponytails or arguing over toys. May carried a small pink basket with her, full of little toys and trinkets that she planned to play with at the school playground when they arrived and Lily had been all talks of her new friend Bea, her very nice teacher and how she had the perfect seat in the class.

He allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts as he watched his girls go, and more often than not his mind drifted to Hermione. For someone who he hadn't seen in fifteen years, she was sure as hell consuming his every thought. But at least he hadn't sat around all day wallowing in his doubts. Harry wasn't _that_ much of an idiot and had quickly been able to confirm the woman was truly her and even informed himself with some of the other parents at the school and town folk about her. Hermione Granger was a well-known member of the Amberley-Arundel community because she was the only single-mother in the entire village. The fact that she apparently owned a tea shop was an afterthought to most people. There was much talk and speculation, especially among the old ladies, of who could be Hermione's '_baby daddy'_. The old hags kept tallies of possible dates, boyfriends or interesting men who could be her child's father and even the Prince of Wales himself seemed to be on the list, which Harry admittedly had a good laugh at.

As he remembered that hilarious moment in the supermarket's checkout line with a chuckle, Harry made a mental note to ask Hermione if she knew of all this interest surrounding her persona, but then was hit with the realization that to do that he would need to actually approach her and talk. It made him nervous on so many levels and deep down it hurt because he still remembered a time where they'd been so close that it would never occur to him to be _this_ uneasy around her. It hurt to realize how much time had passed and how silly he'd been to drift away from her, just because he'd put in his thick, daft mind that he wanted to put all of the bad memories and his past behind him. But Hermione Granger wasn't a bad memory, and he'd stupidly let her go like everything else.

An odd mixture of dread and anticipation overcame him once he held on to both Lily and May's hands so they could cross the road to the school, the large brick building suddenly holding much more meaning for him. Harry had an inkling that officially 'bumping' into Hermione today would mark his official return _home _and he knew that after it happened, there was no going back.

It was still a good half-hour before the children were called to go inside and this meant a rather good amount of kids were already running around the playground accompanied by mostly exhausted-looking parents. Harry eyed an empty seat on a wooden bench but thought it better to stand, his anxiety was so great he probably wouldn't even bear to sit anyway. So he helped Lily and May on the swings and began to push and push until Lily was squealing in delight as she swung high… She'd taken after him in that respect, loving everything that had to do with speed and the heights, he reckoned she'd make an excellent quidditch player in the future. But Lily being so young and Harry never having exposed her to magic in a more concrete way, he knew his daughter hadn't the slightest idea what quidditch was and nor did she know that most likely she was a witch. For all intents and purposes, witches were the old and ugly villains in fairy tales.

"Daddy, daddy let me stop, let me stop! Bea's here!" Lily cried out, excitedly and he did as she requested. He was curious to meet Bea as she was all Lily talked about. When his eyes followed Lily as she mad way to her new friend the little girl felt all too familiar. A warm feeling spread over his body, and butterflies fluttered in his belly as he took the image of the little girl in. Light-brown curly hair held back by a red headband that matched her shiny shoes and a big smile with dimples and an adorable cleft chin… She was the spitting image of her mother.

Lily and Bea embraced as though they'd known each other all their lives and May ran in her direction half-curious and half-jealous of the girl who had captured her older sister's affections. He couldn't help but follow, his feet moving on their own record, despite his rapidly beating heart's protests.

"Daddy, this is my friend Beatrice…" Lily presented the girl to him, holding his hand.

"Hello, Beatrice, I'm Harry… It's a pleasure to meet you." Bea eyed him for a long moment as if wondering if she'd ever seen him before because he sure looked familiar. Before the little girl could respond to him politely, and Harry knew she would because she was after all Hermione's daughter, the witch finally appeared. She wore flowy green pantaloons with a plain cotton shirt tucked inside, as well as a pretty beaded necklace and her curls too, looked lovely as they crowned her features and cascaded a bit down her back. At first, she wore a frown and her eyes didn't dare look at him, hands fidgeting with her purse and house keys. The pesky butterflies continued to fly about his stomach and his heart beat so fast he could barely hear his own thoughts. All he could muster saying was her name… "Hermione…"

She looked up with those big brown eyes of hers, sharp, clever and trying desperately to hide her own emotions… But he still knew some things about her.

"So you're really here…" She let out from under her breath. Harry simply nodded and once he did, however, in came that look of defiance Hermione wore so much when they were children, pointing her chin up as if to prove that nothing could possibly knock her down.

"Fifteen years too long, don't you think?" She looked at him for a long moment, not at all different from her daughter minutes earlier, before nodding. "Umm, silly me… Hermione, these are my girls, Lily and May." Hermione's eyes darted into the girls' direction. Lily had inherited Harry's raven locks, but probably her mum's genes had served for something as they weren't at all messy, but actually quite beautiful and shiny, cut in a short bob with bangs. Lily had Harry's bright green eyes, the incomparable green eyes and it was amazing really… She couldn't help but smile.

"It's lovely meeting you, Lily." She said, warmly extending her hand as she wore a smile.

"You're Hermione?" Lily asked, a spark of recognition in her eyes.

"The one and probably only…" Hermione joked and even Harry managed to crack a smile.

"I have a book from you, we read it all the time! _The Secret Garden_, do you remember it?" Hermione seemed surprised for a moment, at the fact that Harry had kept the gift she sent so long ago when Lily was just a few days old.

"Yes, I remember it, and I'm glad you've enjoyed it…" Lily smiled happily as she turned to look at Beatrice. The two were well aware that the minutes until class started were few and precious and ran off, back toward the playground, leaving their school bags with their respective parents. Only May stayed by Harry's side, clutching on the fabric of his jumper as she half-hid behind him in her shyness. Hermione's eyes darted from Harry to the little girl and she couldn't help but smile tenderly, bending down to match her height. "Hello, May… I'm an old friend of your daddy's. How're you liking your new home?" May blinked for a moment and then relaxed, no longer feeling so nervous around this wild-haired stranger.

"I like the flowers…" May responded, looking down and playing with the hem of her multicolored dress. The little girl had bright ginger hair with a few leftover baby-curls on the edges and big hazel eyes that matched those of her late mother. She was a little beauty, her cheeks fat and free of any freckles, a rarity for redheads.

"Oh, I like the flowers myself, May… I have lots of them at my house and there's a meadow too, covered with chamomiles. Have you ever seen chamomiles?" May shook her head. Hermione pulled one that had been tucked behind her ear, hidden behind the mass of curls. "Here, this one's for you… They look like little daisies, don't they?" May nodded, accepting the small gift with a smile, pressing the delicate flower against her heart.

"Thank you, miss!" Hermione smiled and stood again, facing Harry, introductions out of the way. Her eyes pierced into his and she couldn't help but bite her lower lip for a second, something she did when pondering over something.

"We should have coffee, some time, Harry… To catch up." She finally suggested, her voice an octave or two higher. He nodded in agreement.

"Where can I find you?" He then asked which prompted Hermione's eyes to sparkle with mischief.

"Just ask Mrs. Haversham at the bakery…" Harry's eyes widened. He was now certain she knew of his asking around about her.

With that, Hermione shouted a goodbye to Beatrice, blowing her a kiss, the little girl blowing her a kiss back. She waved at Harry and May and bounded for her trusted bicycle.

…

Hermione arrived home minutes later, pedaling so fast her legs became numb. She was her own personal hurricane as she frantically dropped the bike haphazardly on the patch of grass in front of her house and ran inside, dropping her purse and keys on the sofa and running like a mad woman out the garden door again, passing the little wooden gate to the meadows, running and running until she reached the bottom of the hill where the river stream was and fell on her knees, exhausted and crying. She pulled her knees to her chest and finally let all of her sadness, frustration, nerves and leftover feelings for Harry pour out of her in the form of her tears and sobs.

Five years ago she hadn't allowed herself to cry, but now with him so near, she couldn't afford not to. There was only so much pain someone could carry and it wasn't Harry's fault she'd fallen in love with him at some godforsaken unknown point of their years of friendship. Nevertheless, Hermione's realization that it hadn't faded away with the years as she hoped hit her with the force of a thousand bricks.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Chapter Four _

Hermione happened upon him once again the following Thursday, at pick-up, around half-past three. May had been happily propped on his shoulders, fingers tugging at his raven hair while Lily followed them, talking a mile an hour. Hermione thought herself to have been conspicuous enough, watching from the shadow of the tree, where he most likely wouldn’t notice her visage or her hair that was particularly messy today. Sleep had been difficult, his fault, but of course Harry didn’t know that. The day was warmer than one would expect from the approaching fall season and Harry seemed to hold what looked like car keys in his hand. Her eyes watched his every movement as he strapped his daughters inside a small blue car and drove off with them. Not a look or word in her direction.

  


Their meeting just two days ago was still fresh on her mind, she kept replaying and replaying it, as if it were a film in her head. Harry looked different, older… But that was to be expected, Hermione looked older too. He was handsome, though, having grown taller and more well-built with the years, a far cry from the scrawny teenager of her memories. He still wore his wiry round spectacles, but now sported a beard, not too long but not too short either, which made him look older and just a bit more mysterious. His hair was unkempt as always, a bit longer, but it suited him, as well as covered his dead giveaway of a scar. But Harry’s eyes were still the same, a shocking bright green like no other. He seemed more at peace, patient and gentle than all those years ago, but still very much _ her _ Harry.

  


When Harry left England in 1999 he’d gone a long way since the war. He’d signed up as an Auror and passed with honours, though Hermione could clearly remember the expression of displeasure on his face at the ceremony. It was always like that, him hating not knowing if he earned praise and recognition because of his status as the so-called ‘savior’ of their world or if through his own efforts. It was something that tortured him, made him obsessive about work and training, something that made him pull away from his friends and loved ones more and more, and even from her at some point. She’d left for the University of Oxford that very year, following a long summer of finding her family in Australia, restoring their memories and returning to England with them. 

  


Not long after, Harry decided to travel around Europe and North Africa, an extended vacation. He claimed to need to find himself, or at least it was what he told her fifteen years ago as they farewelled at Heathrow airport. She’d helped him with his travel itinerary, packing and passport issuing as her best friend insisted on doing things the muggle way. Harry had found love during that trip, a love great enough to make him want to leave everything behind. Hermione understood, of course, but that small detail didn’t help at all when it came to her utter state of heartbreak as it dawned on her that she might have lost her greatest friend and the love of her life forever. So, for the most part she lived in denial, trying to convince herself that it was just a passing fancy and that Harry wouldn’t stay with the muggle girl in boring muggle Canada of all places for too long. England was his home, where his friends were, where his godson was--where Hermione was. So she threw herself into her studies in a way that would rival her year of time-turner usage, this time astonishingly without one.

  


Two years later, the wedding invitation came through owl post, almost all their friends portkeying to Lake Louise in Canada for the open air ceremony. Hermione hadn’t though, couldn’t. The excuse she used was of being too busy with studying, research, interning at the Bodleian Library, and throwing herself into a drunken sex and nightlife that never suited her. If Harry could find love, so could she. Those had been her wild and destructive years, so painful and chaotic that today she could barely remember a thing. It’d been a man after the other, sometimes even girls. It had been a vicious cycle of drinking and clubbing, struggling to focus, terrible migraines, barely any sleeping... In those days, if Hermione slept the memories of war, being tortured, cursed and petrified would haunt her, so it was best not to. She lived on pepper-up potions, potions to sleep, potions to wake, potions in order to eat… It was only after her graduation and her moving to Edinburgh for work that she began to find her balance again. Edinburgh represented a new beginning, a new beautiful city to explore, a blank page… So Hermione embraced it fully, just as she now embraced the small and quiet Amberley.

  


The school guard whistled in the background, announcing the closing of the school gates and therefore, the playground, urging the few parents that stuck around with their children to leave. Hermione took it as her cue and got up from the wooden bench she’d sat on after Harry’s departure, reaching for her purse.

  


“Beatrice! Time to go, darling, Granny’s waiting for us at the shop!” She called, upon looking at her watch and noticing that it was just after four, thinking she’d have to apparate them there in order to arrive on time for her shift. Bea immediately looked up from where she was perched on the jungle gym and climbed down, running her mother’s way.

  


“We had story-time today, mum,” Bea told her, strapping on her backpack and taking her mum’s hand, hair bearing a bit of grass, cheeks red from all the running. “Miss Andrews started reading the _ Tale of Despereaux _!”

  


“Really? Isn’t that the one we read this summer, about the little mouse?” Beatrice nodded happily.

  


“It’s a good book…”

  


“Yes it is, darling. I quite connected with little Despereaux…” Bea’s eyes twinkled because she knew very well of her mum’s obsession with books, it seemed like almost every wall of their house was covered with shelves and shelves of them. 

  


When they reached the corner of the school, Hermione looked around to make sure no one noticed them entering the small wilderness ahead and cast a glamour charm with her wand just to be safe, just so they could discreetly apparate. She pulled Bea gently behind a tree and wrapped an arm around her daughter.

  


“Now, you know the drill, don’t you? Hold me tight and close your eyes!” Before the girl could respond, her arms wound tight around Hermione’s hips and she felt the familiar _ pull _ and butterflies in her belly that came with apparating. Less than a minute later they were standing in the _ Restricted Section _ of Hermione’s shop, slightly dizzy, but for the most part okay. Bea loved it when she got to travel with her mother by magic, it made life seem much like a fairy tale, one that was especially privy to them.

  


…

  


Harry stood in the middle of his kitchen with a look of triumph on his face as he admired his handiwork. He’d managed to finish installing all of the new wooden cabinets in his kitchen, cabinets he’d crafted himself over the summer and painted a nice shade of minty-green. Now all that was left was to fixate the trio of shelves he’d use to hold his cookbooks and a few decorative jars near the sink. He took hold of his electric drill and pressed it into the wall. When he’d drilled as deep as necessary he pulled out, only for a cold gush of water to splash all over his face, drenching him from head to toe.

  


His expression was one of pure horror as he climbed down the small ladder and set the drill on the tabletop, watching as the strong jet of water began to flood his kitchen. He ran around the kitchen trying to find something, anything that he could use to make it stop, slipping on the wet tiles as he went. As if sensing their father’s despair, May and Lily walked in, and the youngest let out a squeal of delight. May made a dash for the washroom where she brought out her bath soap, pouring it all around the floor. Lily giggled, knowing her younger sister was in the wrong, but nevertheless loving it. A mischievous glint in her bright green eyes.

  


“Bath time!” May cried out as she rolled around in the bubbles and water, sliding against the checkered ceramic tiles of the kitchen, laughing and laughing, making her father nearly trip over her. Harry watched as Lily joined her sister, throwing soap suds into the air, their clothes soaking wet just as his.

  


He hadn’t the slightest chance of continuing to be upset, as their joy was contagious. His daughters were having the time of their lives, splashing in the water, twirling and sliding about as if they were in a skating rink. He halted his search for something that could momentarily close up the pipe and went on the hunt for his camera. Moments later he snapped several pictures of the two, May’s ginger hair boasting a crown of bubbles while Lily’s cheek were a bright, laughing red, as she slid back and forth on her belly.

  


“You both are so silly!” he told them, with a shake of his head. Over twenty minutes passed and the uncontrollable jet of water continued to pour, the girls having grown tired of the excitement. The search for something to fix the leak was now the priority. He managed to make do with some plastic bags that he bunched up and used to clog the hole with the help of a chopstick. “I think we need a trip to the hardware store now…” He shook his head at the amount of mopping he’d need to do later and mentally berated himself for being so stupid. He’d need to break a small section of the wall now in order to mend the pipe, which meant having to redo a considerable section of the cabinets later. All because of a single, silly, sodden shelf.

  


Harry herded the girls upstairs and managed to get them in dry clothes, making them put on a nice warm sweater each to avoid any chances of catching a chill, before fetching wallet and keys to drive them to Arundel before all of the stores closed at six.

  


He turned on the car radio which played their Beatles playlist as they drove off to the sound of _ Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da _ and _ Yellow Submarine _ which they loved and sang along to, as loud as their lungs permitted.

  


…

  


“Ha! I won _ again! _” Bea exclaimed with a big smile, sticking her tongue out at her aunt Olivia, who wore an expression of most dramatic outrage.

  


“You’re five years old--how’re you this good at chess? Bloody hell!”

  


“It’s because you’re so bad! And I’m _ six _, aunt Liv.” She crossed her arms over her chest and gave the young woman a look that was all too similar to the one her mother often wore. It was amazing just how much Beatrice was like Hermione, but at the same time her own little person.

  


“Hmm, you think so highly of yourself, eh? Do you think Your Majesty could guess my heart’s current desire?” Bea chuckled and rolled her eyes.

  


“You want sweets from the café.” Olivia gasped playfully.

  


“And how do you know that?”

  


“Because it’s six o’clock and closing time, and because you have a sweet tooth.”

  


“Ah, but so do you, Your Highness.” Bea shrugged and hopped off the iron bistro chair, straightening the plaid school skirt she still wore.

  


“It’s _ Your Majesty. _” Beatrice’s tone was all a certain bossy know-it-all Olivia knew, a mix of entitlement and slight arrogance that with time became both hilarious and endearing.

  


“Ah, yes, forgive me oh fair Beatrice.” Hermione, who’d been watching from behind the counter where she was closing the register, took it as her cue to fetch her purse and jacket, as well as her wand to close up shop for them to leave.

  


“All right, ladies, let’s go--I’m so hungry I could eat an elephant…” Olivia grabbed her own purse that was hanging on the back of a chair and both sisters walked out of their business with Bea between them, holding both their hands. With a swish of her wand and the muttering of a few quick spells Hermione locked up _ The Bewitchery _ for the night. “So, off to the bakery, is it?” 

  


“Mummy, do you know how to fly on a broom?” Bea asked, out of nowhere. Hermione couldn’t help but smile as her thoughts drifted to the old firebolt that sat in her attic. She’d cast a number of spells on it when she moved to the Amberley house so that it wouldn’t catch termites or too much dust. She had flown on it on occasion, even if just to relive the butterflies in her stomach from that time riding with Harry over the Burrow, after the war. They’d often gone flying in those days, to relax after the stressful days of rebuilding their world. In the past Hermione had been afraid of heights and she was known to despise quidditch with a passion, but actual flying--she’d grown to love it, even if it’d been a while.

  


Olivia laughed at Bea’s question.

  


“We all know your mum’s a witch, Bea, doesn’t mean she’s the cliche type.” Olivia was a muggle, so there were always going to be aspects of being magical that she’d never understand, even if she’d witnessed plenty already, so Hermione loved finding ways to surprise and annoy her, opening her sister’s mind to her world in a way that she perhaps would never be able to do with her parents, deep down still affected by the many traumas magic had caused in their lives, even if the past was the past.

  


“Actually--I _ do _ know how to fly on a broom. It took me years to properly learn and feel comfortable, I was hopelessly afraid, but I did end up enjoying it.” Olivia deadpanned and looked at her with surprise etched on her face.

  


“You’re kidding?” Hermione smiled, barely containing a chuckle. “Fuck you, Hermione, I want to ride on a broom!” Hermione slapped her sister’s arm for her use of bad language in front of a giggling Bea, but her brown eyes were bright with mirth.

  


“What was that you said about witch cliches, Liv?” Olivia bit her tongue as they finally reached the entrance to Arundel’s finest bakery, the sun beginning to set on the horizon.

  


The Granger trio sat on their usual table by the street window, they always were quite fond of people watching and staring out of the window. The Grangers had a thing of romance and nostalgia about them, perhaps because they were a family of voracious readers and Shakespeare-addicts and because of it they were as imaginative as they came. Rosalind, their mother, was a natural storyteller and Hermione never quite understood her mother’s decision to pursue dentistry of all things boring instead of literature or even journalism, which seemed to better suit her. Either way, sitting beside windows was their thing, sipping on tea or hot cocoa while enjoying a book was their thing, reading to one another and reciting poetry was also their little thing.

  


Ah, and it was also very much their thing to be walking contradictions. They were romantics, yes, but also deeply afraid of lady fate and her proverbial curveballs that she threw their way. That was probably why Harry Potter and his two daughters had to waltz inside the very same café within minutes from them, and why immediately his electric green eyes sparked with recognition upon seeing her across the well-decorated room. Her heart beat madly in her chest, so strong she couldn’t hear anything else. Her eyes widened and she paled immediately, drawing in a deep breath and biting her bottom lip nervously without even noticing.

  


But Olivia of all subtle people noticed her sister’s reaction and turned around to see who she was looking at. When her cornflower-blue eyes landed on the figure of a Harry Potter quite older than she remembered and sporting a beard, she understood. Her eyes darted curiously between the runaway-wizard and her older sister, tensions heightening within the small café in such a way that anyone inside could feel it, she herself could feel it, the hairs sticking up on her arms from the sheer electricity of that meeting.

  


It was Beatrice, bless her soul, who broke the moment, hopping out of her seat with excitement, wrapping one of the little girls who accompanied Harry into one of those big, bear hugs that were typical of their Granger family.

  


“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” She whispered to Hermione, truly shocked out of her mind. “The man of your life reappears out of nowhere back into your life and you’re sitting there like an idiot… Jesus bloody Christ, Hermione.” Olivia looked at her sister as if she were the most despicable creature on the planet. She turned rolled her eyes and got up, following the path Beatrice had set after Harry and his kids. “Hello, Harry, long time no see…”

  


“Olivia--huh, you’ve grown.” Olivia rolled her eyes in that way she normally did. “Fifteen years aren’t fifteen days, Harry. What brings you to Arundel?”

  


“Amberley, actually, I’m living there with my daughters--uh, Lily, May this is Olivia, she is Bea’s auntie.” May and Lily said their polite hellos and Olivia shook each of their hands accordingly.

  


“Come sit with us, Harry, I’m sure there’s much you and my sister have to catch up on.” Harry seemed to hesitate for a moment as he looked around to find most larger tables occupied, and theirs with three chairs conveniently available.

…

  


Hermione Granger’s entire being desired one thing and one thing only, to ring her sister’s neck and bury her dead body in a ditch somewhere. Olivia was so goddamn inconvenient and juvenile at times it really made her lose her cool.

  


Luckily their treats and drinks arrived rather quickly which was a nice buffer in terms of meaningless and completely awkward small talk, save for Bea’s animated conversation and goofing around with both Lily and May as they drew with crayons on the large sketchbook Hermione often carried around in her purse to distract her daughter on outings.

  


“This was so nice, Harry, seeing you again and meeting your girls, but I’m afraid I have to go now, I have to get ready for a date later this evening.” Olivia finally said, grabbing her purse and making a dash for the door, before Hermione could utter a word or call her out for on top of everything being a dreadful liar.

  


With the girls so caught-up with one another, they found each other sitting face to face, having no escape whatsoever. She watched as his expression of unease softened and the lines at the corner of his eyes crinkled with mirth. He scoffed silently, gently shaking his head before looking at her with those impossibly green eyes, from under his dark lashes.

  


“You’ve been avoiding me…” He said, finally. She was about to give him an excuse or protest, but he waved her off with a shake of his head, “I saw you practically climb up that tree trying to hide away from me earlier.” He leaned forward as he said this, his eyes becoming sad as they bore into hers. “It hurts, Hermione, that our friendship came to this. We were once so close, we shared everything, the good and the bad.” He sighed deeply, “Merlin, I fucked up _ brilliantly _, didn’t I? As bloody always…”

  


It surprised her that she felt like laughing at his bitter comment, it wasn’t a cynical laugh, it was just plain funny. She’d been truly ridiculous earlier that day, during pick-up, and naive to think his seeker reflexes would never spot her. She laughed a laugh that made her cheeks turn red and that filled her eyes with tears that didn’t fall. She threw her head back, curls crowning her face, laughing uncontrollably in a way that her sides hurt and he watched her with a mix of curiosity and humor as well, until he too was laughing. 

  


“What’s so funny?” Lily asked them, “We want to laugh too!”

  


“_ We _ are funny, Lily, that’s what. We are two very crazy people.” Harry responded with a genuine smile as his eyes took in the sight that was a flustered eye-sparkling Hermione Granger, as beautiful as a painting.

  


“Should we go for a walk, some fresh air?” Hermione offered, after the laughter had died down and they didn’t quite know what to say after making a fool of themselves in the middle of the café. “I know a lovely little playground nearby… What do you think girls?” Of course, their response was of agreement, and Harry had no choice but to follow along.

  


Once they stepped out of the café, it was evening already, the sky a dark cobalt and the breeze cool. The playground was just around the corner and he recognized it as being the one he took the girls to play at Monday evening, the one right across the narrow cobblestone street from a small Italian restaurant, with fairy lights hanging outside and above the wooden bistro tables.

  


“I had the shock of my life, seeing you here Monday evening…” Hermione admitted, as she followed his gaze. “I wanted so badly to run after you…”

  


“Why didn’t you?” She shrugged.

  


“Because I was with another man that night and it wouldn’t be fair to him…”

  


“Your husband, I presume?” Hermione scoffed and shook her head.

“Oh, Merlin, _ no _. That ship has sailed… And I haven’t boarded a new one in a long time.”

  


“I wasn’t planning on driving to town this evening, but I accidentally hit a pipe while setting up my new kitchen cabinets and it was water all over the place…” He chuckled at the thought, moving the conversation away from the topic of lovers, which was one he avoided like the plague.

  


“That’s… unfortunate.”

  


“I was trying so bad to clog it so it would stop flooding the kitchen but then the girls came and made a party of it and I just… I came to get some supplies at the hardware shop, to fix it.” Hermione nodded.

  


“Why didn’t you just _ reparo _ it?” The way she said it was so natural and matter-of-factly that it made him stop in his tracks, knitting his eyebrows.

  


“I-I… That never occurred to me, to be honest...” Hermione looked at him and smiled, bumping his arm with her elbow in comradery.

  


“Well, you’ve never been the brightest crayon in the box.” Harry rolled his eyes at her and laughed, but she could tell it wasn’t completely genuine.

  


“I suppose I just grew used to doing things the manual, all-suffering, difficult muggle way…” She nodded, as she looked out towards the girls who were playing tag together, running around the small park. The awkward silence crept in again, he hated that it did…

  


After what felt like a lifetime she turned to look at him, brown eyes filled with tears.

  


“Harry, why do you think we spent fifteen years without seeing one another?” Her question was like a punch in the gut, it was one he’d been avoiding for far too long, one he’d hoped he would never have to acknowledge or respond.

  


“_ I _\--I honestly don’t know, Hermione…” It was a lie and they both knew it.


	5. Chapter 5

_ Chapter Five _

  
  


Their park outing came to an end when May tragically tripped on her shoelaces and scraped her knee on the pavement, her cries and wails resounding in the small playground, even patrons across the street at Vivaldi’s restaurant turned to look at the possible bloodshed. Both adults were quick on their feet to mind the little girl, but Hermione more so. Harry watched her pull out a small floral pouch from the pocket of her skirt which she expanded with her wand, pulling out a square of clean gauze. He watched as she efficiently cleaned the bleeding wound, while whispering soothingly for May to calm down.

  
  


“It won’t hurt a thing, love,” Hermione guaranteed and then out came the tiny vial of dittany, a single drop enough to make the stinging go away and for the wound to close entirely, as if nothing happened. May’s eyes went wide with wonder, daddy’s kisses usually helped, but his curly-haired friend was simply magic.

  
  


“It’s gone…” She mumbled out, wiping away a stray tear, her expression no longer of pain but of pure disbelief and curiosity. Hermione helped May up from the ground and cleaned the dust off her clothes. “Are you a fairy?” Hermione shook her head, though there was a smile on her face. She couldn’t resist the cuteness of the girl’s huge doe eyes or the tangled ginger curls.

  
  


“Oh, no, don’t be silly! Fairies are tiny and mischievous little things, I most certainly am not one of them…” May took her hand without asking and nuzzled her soft toddler cheek against the skin of Hermione’s hand.

  
  


“ _ Thank you... _ ” 

  
  


“Oh, you’re quite welcome, May.” Hermione smiled again, her heart warming at the little girl’s show of affection.

  
  


“I think I want to go home now…” Hermione glanced at Harry, already across the playground busy gathering the still wild and energetic Beatrice and Lily. It seemed he had the same desire as his youngest, it was after all way past eight.

  
  


The walk to Harry’s small blue car was a short one, though Hermione greatly appreciated the cool breeze as it helped to keep the butterflies in her stomach in check. Even the girls were all quiet as they went on their way, all different levels of exhausted and ready to hit the bath and then the sack. Once they arrived in front of the hardware store where his car was parked, Harry artfully strapped May in her carseat while Bea and Lily sat side by side, both sweaty and exhausted from all the running. Upon entering he turned on the ignition and the radio, not too loud as to disturb their little passengers and sighed, putting on his seatbelt. Hermione did the same, staring out of the window just so she didn’t have to look at or exchange words with him. It was strange, this predicament of theirs… There was so much she wanted to tell him, but at the same time so little to say, or that she was willing to say. Hermione Granger wasn’t often speechless, but the butterflies were wild again, she could barely breathe or contain herself.

  
  


“Actually, I think I do have an answer…” Harry finally said after a few minutes and it shocked her to her very core. She’d been expecting him to stall or ignore her question from earlier, as he normally did when they were younger. As far as Hermione could recall, Harry wasn’t the sort to express his feelings. Nevertheless, her curiosity got the best of her.

  
  


“It being?” She watched him attentively from the corner of her eyes, not daring to look directly at him for fear of betraying her slippery control of her emotions.

  
  


“I didn’t plan to stay away this long, I just kept postponing and postponing until it was too damn late. The right moment never came…”

  
  


“Why did you need a right moment to visit your friends?”

  
  


“Not visit my friends Hermione, but face all of  _ this _ . Magic, wands, our world, everyone from my past and you included. Magic gave me so much, but it also took away far too much for me to bear. My parents, my freedom, too many friends and schoolmates, my godfather… I wanted out, I didn’t want this world to make me suffer anymore. I figured that because I lived as a muggle when I was a boy I could easily do it again. It was hard to adapt, to not do a spell or wave my wand whenever needed. I had to learn so many things! And then came Sarah into my life and soon after Lily and May. I didn’t feel that there was a reason to use magic anymore, it no longer fit in the new life I had built… So many people live full lives without even knowing about magic, I reckoned I could do the same.”

  
  


“But the difference Harry is that those people weren’t born with it in their veins, it is not in their nature like it is in mine and yours. Magic for us is like breathing, or it should be, I don’t know...” Hermione shook her head and tried to control the upset in her voice as to not disturb the sleeping girls in the back. She drew a long breath and sighed, resting her forehead against the cold of the car window, before turning to look at him again, his eyes focused on the road ahead. “So you stayed away for fifteen years because you wanted nothing to do with magic?” Harry sighed, a deep frown embedded on his features as he made another sinuous turn.

  
  


“It was my choice Hermione, and don’t think for a minute that it didn’t hurt. Leaving that aspect of my life behind was like abandoning a part of who I was, I felt empty and I became desperate to fill that void with something else...”

  
  


“Thing is Harry, you weren’t the only one to have suffered with the war, with how being magical affected your life. Forgive me if I’m angry or think all that you did is utter bollocks, because it is. Your leaving broke my heart, Harry, you were my greatest friend--I thought we’d always be there for one another, through thick and thin. When we said our goodbyes all those years ago at the airport I never expected it to last this long. I felt  _ abandoned _ ...” Hermione still refused to look at him and her words were as firm and harsh as Harry expected them to be, though they cracked and faltered towards the end, when he realized she was battling against an onset of tears. She took in a heavy and shaky breath, but continued:

  
  


“When an entire year passed and then a second, and then you wrote to me speaking of Sarah and bloody Canada of all places--I knew I had lost you, I knew there was no use holding on to the shred of hope that you’d return, that we’d be close again, share that lovely little flat again and go on with our lives together. By then I already had my parents back, and with Olivia to boot, but I never felt more lonely and hopeless in my life. You were my family, too...”

  
  


Harry’s heart ached upon hearing her response. He’d disappointed her more than words could describe. It was in the way she looked at him, the way it rolled off her tongue laced with anger, it was in the way she avoided touching him and even exchanging words. Along with his magic he had turned his back on  _ her _ , his lifelong best friend… Hermione with all her virtues and flaws never deserved it. Harry had been selfish, that much he admitted, but his life was his to live, was it not? Shouldn’t all mere mortals be selfish sometimes? It didn’t mean there weren’t times where he deeply regretted his decision, despite this, however, even if given the opportunity, Harry couldn’t whole-heartedly say he’d change a thing. And wasn’t Hermione being rather selfish herself?

  
  


“Will you ever forgive me?” He asked, finally, after a long few minutes of driving in silence. They were entering the village of Amberley with its cobblestone roads and quaint little cottages of thatched roofs and flowery gardens. That’s when he turned to look at Hermione and saw tears glistening as they silently cascaded down her cheeks. Her eyes met with his and she sniffled, wiping them away.

“I missed you so, so much, I can’t afford to miss you ever again, Harry, so yes, I think I will forgive you, just maybe not tonight...” With that they arrived in front of her home, all lights but that of the tiny front porch switched off. He noticed her dark eyes reflecting something other than discomfort towards him and it somewhat relieved him and gave him hope. Harry was certain that with time things would be all right again between them, perhaps not the same as all those years ago, but at least  _ all right _ .

  
  


“I missed you too Hermione, please don’t think the opposite…” Harry said, desperately wanting that bit of truth and information to penetrate that stubborn brain of hers. Their eyes locked for a moment and Hermione nodded. She fetched her purse and got out, shutting the passenger door carefully. She opened the door to the backseat and gently shook Beatrice awake from where she was snoring, head resting against the car window. “Come on, love, we’re home…” Bea mumbled something incomprehensible and Hermione managed to unbuckle and carry her daughter along the short path home.

  
  


Harry watched as his old friend opened her front door with a simple  _ alohomora _ and shut the bright red door closed behind her. 

  
  


_ Merlin, what a day this had been. _ A part of Harry was almost thankful for the pipe that had burst.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me once again readers for taking so long to update and for the update being so short, but I needed to put this itty bitty chapter out so the story can move forward. Yes, they are awkward right now and they have every reason to be, please bear with me as the ice between these two old friends begins to melt!
> 
> I don't know if all of you noticed but I recently posted a one-shot that is a prequel of sorts to this story, called "How Far We've Come". It relates to the last chapter where Hermione comments about losing her fear of broomstick flying with Harry's help after the war. I think you'll appreciate it and it will be good to catch a glimpse into what their friendship and relationship was like before Harry left England. I think you'll understand why it hurt Hermione so much.


	6. Donkey Business

His daughters were long asleep in their room by the time Harry sat on the edge of his bed almost motionlessly staring at the tattered old shoebox he kept hidden in the deepest confines of his wardrobe. The words Hermione had said in the car still rang in his head and with them an unavoidable and heart-shattering question: how had he been able to live such a lie all these years? Moreover, how could he, a wizard, a person whose life was both cursed and blessed by having magic in his veins have lived without it?

It felt like hours later when he found the impetus to actually open the lid of the cardboard shoebox. It was understandably dusty and just as filled with old letters and pieces of parchment as Harry remembered, a decent amount of them still sealed, some for the lack of courage to send and others for lack of courage to open. Harry still couldn't wrap his mind around the exact reason which led him to want to wipe out Hermione Granger and his entire past in those days, but he knew a part of it was due to his own stubbornness. Harry hadn't just been running away from magic as he'd told her in the car, _no_, he had been running away from having to acknowledge that he'd made a stupid, terrible and utterly irresponsible mistake: marrying Sarah Walsh.

It took him a long time to come to this realization, intent as he was in rebuilding a life for himself and trying so desperately to find happiness after all the traumas and hardships he'd endured. When Harry did come to that realization, however, his daughter Lily was well on the way and he knew it was too late to back down. After that, he couldn't bear the thought of her, he couldn't bear to see her neat and elegant cursive writing on parchment or imagine her voice in his head. Harry just _had_ to leave Hermione Granger behind in order to fully embrace his new and inescapable reality, one in which he'd made the wrong decision, a reality where he had chosen the wrong woman. Hermione had been there when the magic chapter of his life had started and stupidly fifteen years ago he had convinced himself that to let go of her he needed to let go of _it_ as well… They were irrevocably linked in his mind.

Buried beneath all the letters wrapped in a dark suede fabric was his old wand - 11 inches, made of holly wood and a single phoenix's feather. He stared at the poorly bundled object that was once so essential in his life… His eyes welled up. He hesitated for a moment but gathered all the Gryffindor courage he somewhat still had to unwrap it.

Nothing prepared Harry for what he saw. Absolutely nothing.

The wand was so dry it was practically disintegrating in his hand. Harry thought that perhaps he might feel a rush of energy, a spark of recognition, _something_ that would make him feel the deep impact of what he was doing - rekindling with his magic - but instead, it seemed dead. It was nothing like he'd fantasized about… Not that it was something he'd often thought about anyway.

Harry carefully wrapped his fingers around his wand afraid it might snap in half. It didn't, at least not immediately. He looked up to see his reflection on the oval mirror embedded in the antique wooden wardrobe. For a minute there he wasn't _this_ Harry, but that teenage boy he'd once been, full of hope and passion in his eyes.

"_Lumos!_" He cast, crying out the spell with all he had, dying to feel the tingling of the magic channel from his core to that of his wand.

The light that the wand cast was weak and blinked just as a faulty lightbulb would until it went dark on its own.

In that moment Harry was hit with the most devastating of conclusions: he'd almost killed his magic. _Almost._

He waited, in the hopes that it might light up again, attempting another _lumos_ only to get the same exact disappointing outcome. Desperation filled his entire being, his mind and heart accelerated and he felt a surge of _something_ like he hadn't felt in years. Later, lying there in the wee hours, Harry reckoned it might be the very feeling of _resolve_.

He wanted his magic back more than anything, he was certain.

…

He lay in bed though it was all in vain. Too many thoughts and ideas were floating in his mind, rendering him sleepless, staring at the ceiling and the precarious roll of fabric on his nightstand. He watched from the large bedroom window as the morning sun rose on the horizon and washed his bedroom in its lavender and orange hues. The clock on his nightstand went off at six, it's all he'd been waiting for.

Harry jumped out of bed feeling uncharacteristically happy, eager even. He got his daughters out of bed, dressed and breakfasted in record time before loading them both into his tiny blue car. He dropped Lily off at school and then accompanied by his youngest made the small trip all the way to Arundel, his wand still wrapped in the suede cloth, stored safely inside his glove box.

He parked in the single available space in front of what he'd learned was Hermione's shop, The Bewitchery. His heart beat fast in anticipation. Harry couldn't wait to tell Hermione of his latest development. If there was anyone capable of helping him with his wand and his magic it was her. He wasn't exactly sure to what extent she might be willing to help him, especially since he hadn't yet been fully or officially forgiven, but brilliant as Hermione was she'd likely send him in the right direction.

He jumped out of the car, May in one arm and the wand in the opposite hand and entered Hermione's shop for the very first time.

The Bewitchery was so utterly beautiful and cozy, it took his breath away. He had never seen a place look so much like it's owner, in the sense that everything Harry knew Hermione had liked was in there somehow and tastefully. The books, the assortment of teas, the flowers, the pretty shelves and displays, the antiques, it was all so inevitably _her_ that to Harry it nearly felt like coming home.

"Good morning, welcome to the Bewitchery, how may I help you?" He heard a good-humored woman greet him waving from behind a long wooden counter where jars of leaves, ointments, herbs, and essences were.

When Harry's eyes turned to look at her he paused for a moment, recognizing the familiar curls, brown eyes and smile. She was older than the particular Granger he was looking for, but not too different from how he remembered her from the first time they'd met 15 years ago in Australia.

"Dr. Granger…" She furrowed her brows for a moment, before her eyes widened in recognition.

"As I live and breathe… _Harry Potter_?" Harry shrugged, sending her a little smile. He watched as her entire expression changed into an almost scowl. Her lips formed a thin line and her eyes were as glaring as any. Harry quickly realized this wasn't the warm welcome he'd been hoping for. "It's Hermione's day off, she's not coming in today. She's on a date with her _boyfriend."_ It didn't go unnoticed how she emphasized that final word.

It was as if Rosalind was telling him to back off from her daughter. Harry wouldn't, not ever again.

"I'll come back another day then… Nice seeing you, ma'am." She nodded, mumbling out a barely audible 'likewise'.

Harry and May were just about crossing the door when something occurred to him. He ignored Rosalind Granger's death glares and followed the signs that directed him towards Crescent Circle, the local commercial hub for wizards, access to which could be had on the second floor. Surely there'd be a way to owl another old friend from there.

…

To say Lily Potter was going mad with anger was an understatement. For three days now a little blonde boy in her class by the name of Alfie Houghton had been pulling at her braids and teasing her relentlessly. She'd managed to stoically ignore him, until the moment that they were all filing in after break time and Alfie with that ugly donkey face of his had the grand idea to tease her for not having a mum.

"I heard you don't have a mummy, Lily Potter!" He mocked, placing his pudgy hand around his waist, sticking his nose up at her. "I bet she thought you were so boring and so ugly with your messy black hair like that that she ran away!" Bea had stood by her friend, her brown eyes wide out of shock.

"No! That's not why at all!" Lily answered, defiantly, though her bright green eyes betrayed her feelings. Lily's voice trembled, as did her lips, but she decided she wouldn't give that horrible Alfie Houghton the satisfaction. "My mum died, she didn't leave because she wanted to!" Alfie scoffed at her response and laughed.

"You're so ugly, Lily Potter, you've got four eyes and your mummy died afraid of you!" Bea watched with eyes wide in horror as her best friend's face went red with fury, her eyes welling up with tears that soon fogged her glasses.

Bea let go of Lily's hand and was about to shout for their teacher inside, but it was too late.

"You're the one who's ugly Alfie Houghton, you ugly _mean _donkey!" Lily cried out.

Lily's anger was so great that she was overcome with a burning feeling, a feeling that prompted her to ball both her hands into fists at her sides and a silverish light encircled her entire figure until she screamed so shrill and deafeningly loud that the light cast itself from her onto her bully. Alfie's blonde hair and blue eyes morphed into the hideous face of a donkey, long gray ears sprouting on top of his head and a tail at his bottom.

Bea couldn't believe her eyes as she covered her mouth with her hands.

Alfie couldn't properly speak, only made noises like a donkey, until he caught sight of his new tail and ears and started desperately rolling about the lawn.

Lily screamed and screamed until her voice was gone, hot tears streaming down her cheeks, absolutely trembling with shock from what she'd done.

Their teacher, Ms. Andrews came running towards them, gasping and falling at her knees upon seeing Alfie in that state. She looked at Beatrice with a look of panic.

"Call your mother immediately!" Bea didn't know quite what to do with herself before she remembered the coin her mother always had her carry in her pocket for emergencies. Bea hadn't the slightest idea how a coin could help her, but she took it out and rubbed it anyway until the coin started spinning in her hand, glowing a bright glow until it grew hotter, but not enough to burn.

Ms Andrews had her phone on her ear by then, trying as best as she could to hide that donkey Alfie with her body, so that no one else at the school would see.

Lily continued to shake and cry, her eyes going from Alfie to the golden light coming from Bea's hand and all she wanted was to disappear from what she'd done. Bea wouldn't want to be friends with her anymore and Ms. Andrews would probably hate her forever and send her to jail. Her sobs began to intensify and more and more she wished to be gone, until the moment she disappeared with a loud _crack._

"Dear heavens, where has Lily gone?!" Ms. Andrews shrieked, panicking even more, her face pale. Before the teacher could even think of fainting, another _crack _could be heard and Hermione appeared, her wand pointing out, that look of alarm and worry on her face.

"Mummy! Mummy!" Bea cried out, running to her, wrapping her arms around her mother's midsection. "Lily t-turned A-alfie…" She pointed to the boy and Hermione couldn't believe her eyes.

"Lily Potter did this? Where is she?"

"She disappeared with a crack just like you do sometimes!" Hermione pursed her lips and aimed her wand at Alfie.

"_Finite Incantatem! Somnium!_" Hermione exclaimed, casting a spell that returned Alfie back to normal and then another that made him immediately fall asleep on the ground.

"I've called her father!" Ms. Andrews let her know with tears rolling down her cheeks. "I-I didn't know she was a witch too…" Hermione sighed, pinching her nose. "Oh, God, please tell me this boy is alive!"

"Ms. Andrews, he's fine, just sleeping. I need you to secure Alfie and Beatrice for me, away from everybody else, someplace safe and comfortable. Calm him down if he wakes. _Do not notify his parents!_" The teacher nodded rapidly, pulling the boy into her arms. "If anyone asks he's just running a mild fever." Ms. Andrews nodded as she headed inside. Hermione turned to her daughter, "Be good, we'll talk later." Bea nodded obediently and ran inside the school.

…

Lily found herself high up on a tree the minute she opened her eyes. She felt a sickening in her stomach as she looked down, seeing the large brick building of her school behind her. She was too far up to be able to climb down without hurting herself.

"_D-daddy!_" She cried, not knowing what else to do besides call out for him, in the hopes that he'd magically appear to save her. "_D-daddy!_ Help me, daddy!"

Hermione heard the muffled cries and followed the sound, her wand gripped tightly in her hand as she tried to concentrate as much as possible to find Harry's little girl.

She exhaled with insurmountable relief once she spotted the bright red of Lily's school uniform in the midst of the tree's bare branches.

She ran towards it and peered up at the girl.

"Lily-it's me, Hermione, Bea's mum. Are you alright?" Lily let out a sob, but nodded, arms wrapped around another branch for safety. "Listen, darling, everything's alright, Alfie is fine… No longer a donkey."

"_No?_"

"No, love. Now, I need you to be very calm, alright? I'm going to say a strange word and it'll make you float in the air upside down, which means off that branch. Don't worry, you won't hurt yourself, it'll just make it easier for me to catch you."

"_No, please…_" Lily begged, terrified. She looked directly down at Hermione, her face was serious although there was kindness in her voice.

"Come on Lily, I promise everything will be alright!" Lily shook her head.

"I'll give you a chocolate frog…" Hermione coaxed with a smile and then she watched as Lily's eyes brightened with interest.

"It won't hurt?"

"Not one bit." Lily nodded, granting her permission. "_Levicorpus!_" Lily saw something akin to a silent bomb explosion erupt from Hermione and then felt her body float making her squeal as she involuntarily spun like a wheel until she was upside down.

"I'm not falling!" Lily exclaimed with wonder before Hermione positioned herself exactly below the girl and wandlessly cast out a _liberacorpus._ Lily barely had time to scream before she was caught in Hermione's arms.

"You tricked me!" She accused, though she wasn't at all angry.

"Would you let me help you if I didn't?" Lily shook her head, before wrapping her arms tightly around her neck and burying her face in Hermione's mane of curls. Hermione could feel the warm tears against her skin and rubbed soothing circles against Lily's back. "Don't worry, everything's alright…"

"He said mean things about m-my mummy, a-and that I w-was ugly and…" Hermione's heart broke for the crying little girl in her arms. She'd been in that position before many times throughout her childhood, Hermione deeply understood what it felt like to be so utterly hurt and humiliated.

"LILY!" They heard Harry shout as he ran along the corridor towards them, he carried May in his arms who'd latched on to his neck for dear life as he did, his breath heaving.

His eyes caught sight of Lily nestled in Hermione's arms, his friend's hand gently rubbing against her back to soothe her. Their eyes immediately locked and a very obvious question was written in his eyes. Hermione mouthed a 'she's okay,' in his direction and with that Harry was able to relax. After all this time, all these years apart, Harry realized she was still the person he could trust and count on implicitly.

Minutes later they were all sitting in the nurse's station with Alfie still asleep on the cot and a much calmer Ms. Andrews behind the desk. Bea sat on the small bench next to Lily, their hands clasped together while the parents received a good earful from the teacher.

"It's not something that can be controlled, Laura." Hermione explained, "accidental magic can happen for a number of reasons and in this case, it was purely emotional. From where I understand, that boy insulted Lily on so many levels that I have a hard time even picturing him as a normal, _sweet_, six-year-old child. He told Lily horrible things about her _deceased_ mother, the sort that no one should ever say to _anyone_!" By the end of her speech, it was Hermione who was nervous as she got up from her chair and paced the room.

"Mr. Potter, why didn't you inform me of your daughter's _special gift._" Harry hesitated for a moment before sighing and turning to look at his daughter's teacher.

"It had never happened before, I didn't expect it to happen anytime soon… I-" his voice broke for a moment, "Dear Merlin I'm a horrible parent…" he sighed deeply, trying to hold in the tears that wished to fall. "I'm very sorry, Ms. Andrews, really. I hope this won't be something that'll compromise Lily's studying here."

It was then that Ms. Andrews broke her stressed and serious façade, sharing a laugh with Hermione standing behind him. Harry hadn't the slightest idea why.

"Taking into account Beatrice's own _little accident_ last year in kindergarten, it wouldn't be fair of me to expel your daughter. I just need you both to patch up Alfie Houghton before his parents come to pick him up!" Ms. Andrews smiled, her light-brown eyes were bright and friendly. Harry could see why Lily liked her so much as a teacher.

Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it to the boy's forehead casting an _obliviate_, so that nevermore in his life he'd remember his twenty or so minutes of being a donkey. She then cast a Memory Modifying Charm where all the blonde little boy would remember was being pushed to the ground by a brave little girl after being mean.

Harry had watched the whole ordeal intently, not only impressed by Hermione's abilities, which was silly of him giving their history and knowing she'd always been brilliant, but it also filled him with a feeling akin to envy… Hermione's magic was her superpower and she'd been able to use it to save Lily and Alfie today. Where was Harry's superpower?

Minutes later, all five of them strapped into Harry's car, he was about to turn the key on the ignition when he felt he should say something.

"I wouldn't know what to do if it weren't for you…" Hermione eyed him from the corner of her eyes.

"Besides your awful timing, I think you'd know just what to do, Harry… I think you've let yourself forget just what an amazing wizard you are." And then she looked at him with a smile on her face, "don't let this get to your head though," she hit his arm upon seeing the smirk on his face, a smirk she hadn't seen in a long time and that she'd missed dearly.

"How about some tea?"

"Tea would be nice!" Bea exclaimed from the backseat and Hermione chuckled at her daughter's appetite.

When they were all jumping out of the car Harry watched as Lily laced her fingers with Hermione's.

"Are you like Mary Poppins?" Lily asked her while they went the small path up to Turtledove cottage. The innocent question prompted Hermione to chuckle.

"Yes, Lily, and I'm _practically perfect_ too." Harry laughed and shook his head at her from where he stood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my 24th Birthday tomorrow (the 14th) so please, please be a sweetheart and leave a review, you don't know how much it means to me!


	7. All things missed

Turtledove Cottage, the home Harry and his daughters inherited from his father-in-law looked every bit like a work in progress, although it managed to be quite the cozy place. It reminded Hermione a bit of the Burrow, the sort of place that was shabby but so wonderfully full of warmth and life.

  
  


The wallpapers were of an aged and yellowed ivory with delicate floral patterns. The walls had light green paneling, freshly painted from what Hermione could tell and they contrasted nicely with the white-painted window panes, built-in shelves and the stone fireplace at the center of the living room.

  
  


The dark-green velvet sofa was the sort that you could positively disappear into, the cushions wide and fluffy enough to make one never want to leave. Immediately as they walked in Lily guided the other girls onto it, appearing to be every bit exhausted from her rollercoaster of a morning as she lay her head on a pillow.

  
  


“Daddy, I think I might take a nap…” she warned him, curling into a soft plush blanket.

  
  


May sat next to her sister, patting her back as one would to calm a baby. She wasn’t much of a talker but Hermione could tell May was an absolute sweetheart. Her vibrant ginger curls were adorable and for just a split second prompted Hermione to dwell on what could have been.

  
  


“That’s fine, Lilypad… May, why don’t you show Bea the house and our veggie garden?” He suggested.

  
  


May lit up and dragged Bea outside with an excitement that was infectious. Hermione followed Harry into the kitchen area, where the cabinets were a lovely shade of minty green, which harmonized nicely with the long wooden table at the middle of the room, a pitcher with wild flowers adorning it. She pulled out a chair and watched as he finally put the kettle on, becoming overwhelmed with just how much this reminded her of earlier times. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, sighing heavily as she recalled the tiny flat they shared in Notting Hill right after the war and her graduation from Hogwarts. He had just started his auror training and she’d been working day and night on solutions to retrieve her parents and restore their memories. Amidst the very aftermath of that dreadful war and all the scars and torment it had caused them, at far too young an age, Hermione had fallen in love.

  
  


It wasn’t love at first sight, obviously, they’d been little children at best. It hadn’t been an exchange of looks across a dance floor as what might be considered normal for other people their age; it wasn’t something born of hormones and sexual desire either. Rather, it had been the little things. The way he gently squeezed her hand when they sat across from each other on the kitchen table in total silence but somehow so in sync with their thoughts. It was in the way Harry had known how to prepare her tea by heart, the way her mum had used to prepare it and with absolutely no milk. It was in the way he triple checked all windows and locks during the night, as well as the wards, so as to ease her fears. It was in the way he bought sweets and baked for her to cheer her up but also to keep his hands and mind busy as well and then, before Hermione knew it, it had been in the way his calloused hands touched and held on to her while he taught her stubborn self to fearlessly fly on his old firebolt. It had also been in the way he always bought them matching crosswords puzzle books at the muggle newspaper stand and how they would sit down each evening and have a silent competition over bottles of butterbeer Ron would bring over and the way his eyes would light up victoriously on the rare occasion that he beat her in completion.

  
  


And here he was before her once more, fifteen years later, and she was far too aware of how it was still the little things, always would be, that made her fall in love with him and hold that goddamned torch for so long. Hermione felt heat rise onto her cheeks and her palms begin to sweat as her heart acted on its own volition, just upon watching him move so similarly to the way he used to in the kitchen, preparing the tea the way she always preferred it, still knowing it by heart.

  
  


“I visited your shop today…” He told her, as he grabbed a mug for himself and a more delicate teacup and saucer for her. She tried not to act on the fact that it moved her like few things ever did.

  
  


“What did you think?”

  
  


“It’s so nice, I really like what you did with it. The decor, the layout, everything’s brilliant… Very you.” Hermione looked at him with those piercing dark eyes of hers, her bottom lip caught behind her teeth.

  
  


“You were looking for me.” It wasn’t a question.

  
  


“I saw your mum there, she wasn’t happy at all to see me…” Hermione exhaled and huffed, nearly rolling her eyes.

  
  


“I haven’t forgiven you yet, just so you know.” Harry looked at her just as serious as she was, setting the teapot on the table between them along with the little jar of sugar and spoons.

  
  


“Which is why I was rather nervous to seek you out… I-I need your help with something, anyway, you’re an expert at almost everything I thought you might be able to help.” Immediately her interest was piqued, he could tell by the way Hermione slightly curved an eyebrow upwards and straightened her back.

  
  


“My wand is practically dead wood, I was barely able to perform a  _ lumos. _ ” Her eyes widened out of legitimate surprise. She didn’t think her words would resonate with him as much as they now seemed to have.

  
  


“Doesn’t surprise me. Wood is wood, tends to dry up and become brittle if you don’t care for it… Just like your magic, I presume.”

  
  


“Is there anything written about witches or wizards who seized using magic for a long time? The effects of it…” Hermione put down her teacup and paused for a moment, trying to remember if she’d ever read anything on the topic. And then it hit her.

  
  


“It’s extremely rare for that to happen because wizards and witches tend to be so dependent upon their magic it’s not something they’d usually give up. When I was at Oxford I remember studying some 12th century manuscripts for my thesis… It wasn’t really within my topic of research so I didn’t investigate deeper into it, but there was the case of a witch in Canterbury who was imprisoned for nearly twenty years without trial. Her health became frail but she insisted upon not dying, it was quite interesting.”

  
  


“Why didn’t they execute her?”

  
  


“She was eventually released because it so happened that she was the mother of her captor’s son. When the father, Sir Wilfred of Acton died the son released her, the population forgave her for some reason on the account that God had spared her for she was wrongfully accused of performing witchcraft and was actually a holy woman. She was put in a nunnery and it was all swept under the rug.”

  
  


“And then what?”

  
  


“She was found dead months later with a long and elaborate piece of wood clasped in her hands, albeit dry.”

  
  


“Her wand?” Hermione nodded.

  
  


“Not a shadow of doubt. Her body was burned and buried in unconsecrated ground for having all along been a witch. Her son was ousted from his land, stripped of his nobility title and also executed.”

  
  


“How does this help me though?” Hermione smiled a cheshire cat’s smile and sipped on her tea with a level of self-satisfaction that should be considered indecent.

  
  


“The old woman had a diary, it was actually part grimoire and part diary and in it she wrote about herself and the way she practiced magic until she couldn’t anymore. This book was saved by her granddaughter and happens to be at the Bodleian library.” Harry looked at Hermione with a look of dread, it was the sort of look he cast her way when she had the brilliant idea during school to make him read boring books for the sake of  _ knowledge. _ Just as she’d do then as a schoolgirl, Hermione rolled her eyes at him and huffed in that know-it-all way of hers. “I’m calling Adrianne.”

  
  


“Who’s that?”

  
  


“An old colleague of mine who works at the Bodleian archives, she’s a witch and is in charge of the wizarding section.”

  
  


“There’s a wizarding section at Oxford University?” Hermione rolled her eyes once more.

  
  


“At the university’s main library.” She corrected, “and there is because I helped create it.” Harry’s eyes widened in awe.

  
  


…

  
  


About an hour later Harry was busy serving a snack of chocolate chip cookies, fresh strawberries with cream and milk for the three little girls when Hermione excused herself to use the restroom. He was pouring Bea’s glass when Hermione’s cell phone that had been set on the table began to ring. He eyed it curiously, the name ‘Eric’ lighting up on the screen. Bea gave it one look and huffed, biting into her strawberry.

  
  


“It’s just mummy’s boyfriend,” she told him nonchalantly.

  
  


Harry felt a hot, raging feeling take over him, like hot lava ruining his otherwise very good mood. He glared at the offending name on the screen and almost slammed the carton of milk against the table, startling the three little girls who looked at him with shock.

  
  


“Sorry… slipped.”

  
  


“Bea, will you play safari with us upstairs?” Lily asked her, referring to the makeshift tent set up in hers and May’s room, their large stuffed animals composed of a giraffe, lion and bear stood guard around it, where their play binoculars were left abandoned inside.

  
  


“Only if I get to be the safari guide.” May squealed in delight.

  
  


“I’ll be the monkey!” She cried out with excitement.

  
  


“In that case I’ll be the animal doctor.” Lily chipped in.

  
  


“Finish your lunch first, darlings.” Hermione said with a smile as she walked back in. Harry noticed how she’d put her hair up in an updo with the help of bobby pins, curls falling out and framing her lovely face. She was about to ask Harry to show her his wand when he pulled her into the living room away from their daughters and waved the cell phone in front of her.

  
  


“Your  _ boyfriend _ called.” He informed her, his voice laced with an anger neither of them had been expecting. Immediately Hermione took it from him, furrowing her eyebrows in irritation. Soon she herself was  _ royally pissed _ at the way Harry had behaved. Hermione slipped the phone inside her pocket and balled her fists at each side, glaring at him.

  
  


All the leftover anger and bitterness she felt towards him since his erasing her of his life overcame Hermione and she couldn’t bare holding it in any longer:

  
  


“You  _ left _ , Harry Potter!” Hermione barked out, pointing her finger at his chest. Her fury was such that she rose taller, going on the tip of her feet as she glared directly at him. “You have no  _ bloody _ right to be this way when it was you who fucking up and left!” Her accusation was a heavy blow. Hermione was right, he had no claim to her, it wasn’t his business if she had a boyfriend or not… They hardly even were best friends anymore.

  
  


If Harry just minutes ago had been feeling hopeful and happy that they were beginning to mend their friendship, now he came to the realization that it would never be as easy as he hoped. Hermione felt it as he lowered his guard, his entire demeanor wilting in front of her and then she took a step back, her eyes still on him. She couldn’t help but sigh deeply.

  
  


“You left, Harry. You  _ left! _ ” This time, as she repeated those soul-shattering words to him, her eyes wet with unshed tears, they weren’t filled with anger but of sadness and regret. Possibly the very same Harry felt.

  
  


“I’m sorry…” He whispered. Hermione wasn’t sure if he was apologizing over his uncalled for jealousy of Eric or for having left, maybe both. All she was certain of was how utterly exhausted she felt.

  
  


“Beatrice!” She called her daughter, ignoring him. “Put on your shoes love, it’s time to go home. The three of you can play more another day… Mummy’s tired.” Bea sighed deeply and pouted, looking at the equally disappointed Lily and May apologetically.

  
  


“We were about to play safari…” Lily told Hermione, her eyes identical to those of her father pleading with her to stay longer, to let Bea stay longer.

  
  


“I’m sorry, Lily… Next time, alright?” Hermione brushed her raven bangs. Lily nodded and on an act of impulse hugged her, resting her cheek against the older woman’s side. “No more donkey business, okay? If that horrible little boy messes with you again you’ll let me know, yeah?” Lily nodded, Hermione still trapped within her embrace.

  
  


Bea waved her goodbyes to her friends and went along the sidewalk in the direction of their home just a few steps ahead of her mother. Hermione waved to Lily and May herself and turned around to leave. Before she took another step Harry took her hand, the shock and feel of it enough to make her halt right then and there.

  
  


“I regretted it the minute I left you,” He whispered from behind her, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of her neck. “I wanted to return to you, I really did, but by then it was too late.”

  
  


Harry didn’t see it but Hermione closed her eyes, her whole body tensing because all she wanted to do, Merlin forbid, was punch the living daylights out of him. 

  
  


“Timing was never really your forte, was it Harry?” She turned and glared those beautiful, anger-filled brown eyes at him, “unless it was to catch a  _ bloody _ snitch.” Harry watched as she shook her head to herself and ran her nervous fingers through her hair. “I’ll help you with your magic but don’t expect anything more from me.”

  
  


With that said, Hermione marched away after her daughter, leaving him dumbfounded outside his cottage door.

  
  


…

  
  


Harry lay in the makeshift tent in his daughters’ room, May fast asleep on one side, clutching her favorite stuffed dog and Lily with her head on his shoulder, gazing up at the pattern of the blankets.

  
  


“I owe you an apology, Lil…”

  
  


“It’s okay now, daddy. Mary Poppins helped me…” Harry shook his head.

  
  


“I should’ve been the one to help you, I should’ve warned and prepared you for what might happen, it happens at some point to all of us… I had accidents too as a little boy.” Lily gasped at this information, turning to look at her daddy.

  
  


“You can do it too?” Harry nodded.

  
  


“Hermione isn’t Mary Poppins, Lily. Mary Poppins isn’t real, she’s a character like Peppa Pig or Superman… Hermione is a witch and so are you… I’m a witch myself, kind of, only I’m a man so we call ourselves wizards. Your friend Bea, she’s also a witch, she’s had accidents too and soon it’s possible that even your sister might have an accident.”

  
  


“Aren’t witches evil?” Harry chuckled and shook his head.

  
  


“Witches and wizards are just like non-magical people, some are kind, others are not. The difference is that we have magical powers. The people who don’t have magic are what we call muggles. For instance, your mummy was a muggle and so was your granddad Bernard.”

  
  


“Was mommy sad that she didn’t have magic?” Harry hesitated for a moment.

  
  


“Sarah was very curious about it. When we first met she liked me to perform tricks, she thought it was fun… But to be honest, I didn’t feel comfortable using magic in front of her so much, it made it feel like we were far too different. I didn’t want her to eventually feel bad.”

  
  


“Did she feel bad?” Harry paused for a moment and then shook his head, exhaling heavily as he did, tears welling up in his eyes.

  
  


“It was silly of me. Sometimes dads can do silly things too…” Lily hugged him tight.

  
  


“I wanna see you do magic one day, daddy.” Harry smiled, running a hand through her hair.

  
  


“So do I, sweetie.” He kissed the top of her head and Lily snuggled into her pillow. “Time to sleep, okay?” She nodded, yawning as if to make a point.

  
  


Harry turned off the bedroom lights and left just a crack of the door open, so that the yellow light of the hall wouldn’t render the room completely dark. He dragged his sorry arse down to the kitchen for a nightcap of tea spiked with whiskey, he thought he deserved it after this crazy day they’d had. The minute he walked in he noticed an owl perched on the back of a chair, none other than old Pigwidgeon and a folded piece of parchment sealed with an orange wax crest.

  
  


…

  
  


“You’re an idiot, that’s what!” Ron told Harry as he munched on fish and chips while they sat in a quieter corner of The Bat Tavern, a pub located on Castle Crescent that was run by a muggleborn Batman aficionado. The punny name was totally lost on Ron though as he had it in him that the owner was actually a vampire. “Mate, one thing I learned from dating Hermione that one brief time was that it was brief for a reason. She hates territorial, jealous men.”

“I don’t know why I did that, or even why I felt pissed enough to do it.” Ron rolled his eyes dramatically and faked a yawn.

  
  


“You were once in love with her, that’s why. Merlin, I reckon you might even still be!” Harry furrowed his eyebrows, how could Ron possibly know? Was it because of the vision from the horcrux while they were on the hunt?

  
  


“What’re you going on about?” Ron scoffed at him.

  
  


“The two of you moved in together after the war… It was bound to hit your daft mind at some point. Completely ruined any chance I had of getting back with her, if I’m honest. You both got caught up in your own little world of muggle comfort and gloom. I s’ppose I just realized there wasn’t room anymore and then soon enough Luna and I got closer…”

  
  


“ _ Oh. _ ” Harry didn’t know what to say, so he signalled for the waiter to bring them each another pint. “I’m sorry about that, making you feel left out.”

  
  


“I-I honestly didn’t feel as bad as I should have, really. I got caught up with the fam and everything, Fred’s passing… I began working with George and I just made a life for myself, you know? Ron Weasley outside of the Golden Trio.” Ron popped another chip in his mouth and smiled that goofy grin at Harry. “It paid off in the long run, mate and you know what? After you left Hermione and I actually became friends, I think I was her only friend for a long time.”

  
  


“Yeah?” Ron nodded.

  
  


“Before you were the glue that stuck us together, and then it was the teenage hormones. When all that went to bust we just, how does she usually put it?  _ Clicked. _ Yeah…” Ron downed the rest of his beer as he noticed the next one arriving. “I’m Bea’s godfather and we meet once or twice a month here at the pub or at the Leaky.” Ron then started smiling like silly, humor in his voice. “Merlin’s beard, Harry you’ve no idea! Hermione’s got a wild side!” He said this with eyes shining and a huge smile, as if remembering all the drunken adventures they’d gone on. Harry felt envious, as though he should’ve been a part of all that too.

  
  


“I’ve missed so much, haven’t I?” He said into his beer, a brooding wistfulness taking over him.

  
  


“I love you mate but I’ll  _ bloody _ AK you if you hurt her again. You weren’t here, you’ve no idea what she went through, the things she did. I honestly can’t count the number of times I pulled her out…” Ron looked into Harry’s eyes with all seriousness now, his blue eyes darkening, leaving Harry with no doubts that Ron would indeed do it if Harry messed up. “The thing about Hermione is that she’s a bloody great actress, if you don’t know her well, she’ll fool you like it’s nothing. She’s never stopped hurting, that’s all I’m saying.”

  
  


“What happened to her exactly?” Ron shook his head and waved his palm in front of Harry, urging him to stop right there.

  
  


“Not my place to tell, mate. You’ll have to catch that bull by her horns and get the truth out of her yourself.”

  
  


“Are you and Luna still a thing?” Ron chuckled, his cheeks becoming as red as the hair on his head.

  
  


“If by thing you mean still together, yeah. She’s totally bonkers but I adore her, you know?” Harry nodded. “How are Lily and Matilda?”

  
  


“We mostly call her May…” Harry corrected with a smile, “They’re doing well, loving the new place. Lily had this big accidental magic thing at school…”

  
  


“Oh yeah, ‘Mione mentioned it! The donkey thing…” As Ron chuckled it dawned on Harry just how much there was truth in his mate’s every word, how they’d managed to move on from the end of their relationship into a strong friendship, one where they confided things to one another and supported each other. It was a reality in which Hermione had chosen Ron to be the godfather of her first and only child. 

  
  


Harry couldn’t help but think of the would’ve beens… If he hadn’t left her that fateful December 31st of 1999 likely he, Harry, would’ve been Beatrice’s godfather, hell, maybe even her father! He thought of all the heartache he could have spared Hermione, spared himself as well. Harry felt angry and it wasn’t because she had a boyfriend, he now began to realize, it was because life went on despite his absence, her life had gone on. He was a selfish bloody git. He almost wished Hermione had been here right now to punch him in the face just as she’d done years ago to Malfoy. Harry would punch himself if he could.


	8. A Little Help from a Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to Zephyrus Prolixity and Sea Kays for their amazing help with this chapter and for being my new betas!

_ Chapter Eight _

"A Little Help From a Friend"  
  
  


Early morning on a Saturday and she was planting seedlings along with Neville Longbottom on the rooftop of _ The Bewitchery _. As they worked in mostly silent companionship Hermione couldn’t help but steal a few glances at her longtime friend and he toward her. It was Neville who tired of it first and abandoned his trowel, pulling off his worn-out gloves, and crossing his arms over his chest.

  
  


“Spit it out already or I swear I’ll leave. You know McGonagall will have my _ tush _ if she discovers I slipped out of the Castle today.” 

  
  
  
  
  


“_ Tush?” _ Hermione tried to hold in her laugh.

  
  


“Stop it, you! I work with _ children! _” 

  
  


Hermione raised her hands as if surrendering. Neville watched as her laughter faded into a frown. “Harry’s back, you know…” 

  
  


Neville nodded, “well yeah, we’ve been writing.”

  
  


“You have? Since when?” Hermione tried to hide the upset that came from feeling left out, as though everyone on the face of the earth mattered and was worthy of a letter from Harry, except for her.

  
  


“Not long… He wrote to me a month or so before returning home. I send the girls choco frogs from Honeydukes once in a while. The little one is technically my godchild.”

  
  


“Well, he pisses me off…” 

  
  


Neville made a face, trying to hold in a smirk, “I can imagine why.”

  
  


“Can you, really?” Hermione’s eyes were sharp as she crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

  
  


Neville nodded. Once upon a time, he might’ve been terrified of his fellow classmate but their years of friendship beyond war and school had allowed them to grow closer. Neville Longbottom wasn’t the sort to have loads of friends or be especially outgoing, but there were perhaps a handful of people that he considered as good as family and she was one of them. To him, no matter what happened, Hermione Granger would forever be that little girl who helped him find his frog on the train. “I can actually. You were in love with him once, quite obviously so…” He looked at her in a way that felt awfully like Hermione’s father looked at her when he wanted to prove a point.

  
  


Hermione couldn’t stop the blush that invaded her cheeks, or the hot feeling in the pit of her stomach as she registered his words. “He threw a fit the last time we saw each other… I was _ so _ furious! All I could see was red…”

  
  


“Well, no one can say he isn’t the fiery sort, and Merlin knows you certainly are too.” Neville retorted. “What happened?”

  
  


Hermione began to pace around the rooftop, tension coming off her in waves. As she did it she began listing: “I saved his daughter from falling off a tree, he invited me for tea at his place, I went… So far, so good… And then Eric called…”

  
  


“Eric your boyfriend?” He asked. 

  
  


Hermione nodded, rolling her eyes, still pacing. “Tell me, Neville, what business does Harry have throwing a fit over him anyway?”

  
  


Her fellow Gryffindor fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Oh for Merlin’s sake Hermione, he was jealous! You’d think it would be obvious to the _ brightest witch of her age _.”

  
  


Hermione paused her neurotic pacing as he said the blasted words. “Awfully audacious of him, don’t you think? To be jealous after all this time, after leaving.”

  
  


Neville shrugged. “The heart is one thing, and the head is another entirely,” he trailed off. “I have my suspicions, though, that you’re upset not because Harry was jealous but because you _ liked _ that he was jealous.”

  
  


Hermione’s eyes widened as she took it all in. For _ four days _ she’d been losing sleep over it, over _ all _ of it, only for Neville of all people to come out and say it to her face. She was livid, she was pissed, she was completely and utterly screwed. “I... I do not know how to respond to that.”

  
  


“We seldom do when it comes to feelings,” Neville reasoned.

  
  


“Shouldn’t they have gone away by now?”

  
  


He shook his head, “That’s not how feelings work…”

  
  


“If he had feelings for me, why on earth did he leave?”

  
  


Neville sighed deeply, staring out at the view to the village and castle for a long moment. “Maybe because love is _ scary _…” His voice was low and saddened all of a sudden. “To love someone is to be so vulnerable, so miserable… Nothing else is good or pleasant in life, nothing else has beauty, it’s all just colorless and miserable when we lose them or they don’t love us back. Like the London winter...”

  
  


Hermione couldn’t help but smile gently at his analogy, though in reality there was no humor to any of it. “Ginny, I gather.”

  
  


“Yeah, the one and only.” Neville gulped and returned his focus to the plants.

  
  


They still had so much to do: finish planting the seedlings and new flowers, hang the strings of lightbulbs, set up the tables… He’d been gracious in all honesty, helping her with this little project with already so much to do at Hogwarts.

  
  


“She’ll be here for my birthday party. We floocalled yesterday…” Hermione trailed off, putting her gloves back on.

  
  


“Flying in from Dublin, I see.” Neville accioed the watering can. “Then I’ll finally get the chance to congratulate her on leading the Harpies into that World Cup win!” He pretended to be excited.

  
  


“You’re so full of shit, Nev.” Hermione poked fun at him.

  
  


“Nah, you’re full of even more shit, Granger.” He successfully swerved from a handful of mud she threw his way.

  
  


“Hello, Sweetheart! Ready to go?” Hermione and Neville both were startled to hear Eric’s voice coming from the antique iron lift behind them.

  
  


“_ Oh. _ Is it noon already?” Hermione asked, having completely lost track of time.

  
  


Eric smiled and nodded. “Rooftop’s beginning to look great. Hello, Longbottom!” Neville nodded his hello.

  
  


“You go have your lunch, I’ll just finish here and floo to Harry’s. Godfather duties!” Hermione’s eyes widened at the new bit of information given in front of Eric. She glared at her friend.

  
  


“Do you mean Harry? As in Harry Potter?” Eric asked, with genuine surprise. He sent Hermione a look that had her paling on the spot.

  
  


“Yes! The one and likely _ not _the only.” Neville retorted impishly, “He’s living in Amberley now.”

  
  


“In Amberley. _ Huh… _ How exciting for you to be able to see your friend again, and have him so close.”

  
  


“Yeah, fifteen years too long, you know? Anyway, off you go you two. Enjoy your luncheon and have fun!” Neville smiled, gently ushering them away.

  
  


“Yeah, you too,” Eric waved.

  
  


The lift ride downstairs was only a minute long but a minute too quiet and too awkward. No, Hermione hadn’t told her boyfriend that her once best friend was back in the country, hell, just a short walk from her house. And no, she hadn’t been in a hurry either.

  
  


Rosalind Granger waved to them from behind the counter where she was assisting a customer, all the while her eldest daughter was trying her best not to vomit, nervous as she was.

  
  


It was only a short walk to the local Greek tavern, _ The Dioskouri _, where Hermione often ate, usually preferring the lighter Mediterranean diet to sandwiches and pies.

  
  


After minutes of silence, she noticed Eric sigh from beside her and she forced herself to put on her big girl trousers and get it all over with. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  
  


“It’s none of my business…” He responded, his tone serious and lacking the warmth usually reserved for her.

  
  


Never in a million years would Hermione imagine he’d be this upset. Eric hadn’t the slightest idea of her relationship with Harry, other than the well-publicized friendship between the trio that had won the second wizarding war.

  
  


“I didn’t say anything because I’m still coming to terms with it myself. Eric…” He ignored her as he continued on the path to the restaurant. “_ Eric, please _… Listen!” She hissed at him, unwilling to make a fool of herself in the middle of the street.

  
  


Eric stopped on his tracks and then turned around to face her, disappointment evident on his face.

  
  


“Your best friend is back from I don’t know how many years living abroad Hermione… Anybody else in your place would be over the moon! But you aren’t happy, or whatever, you’re not! And that just sort of proves to me that something really serious happened between you two and--and, whenever Harry Potter is the topic of conversation you act strange, you grow tense… Were you two lovers? Is that it?”

  
  


“No. No, that’s_ not _ it! We were never lovers, _ never _. As you said, he was my best friend and he’s lived fifteen years abroad. I suppose that’s why I’m upset… Why return now when none of us needs him anymore?”

  
  


As soon as Hermione said the words she regretted them, the lies that they were. She didn’t lie when she said she and Harry weren’t lovers but they weren’t _ just _ best friends either. There wasn’t a single word in the English dictionary capable of precisely describing what they were during those last months of 1999, not that she was the least bit inclined to divulge all of the gory details to Eric.

  
  


“I worry, you know…” He trailed off, trying to look at anything but her so as to avoid Hermione seeing the pain in his eyes, as well as the insecurity.

  
  


Eric Fletcher was a smart, handsome, wonderful, _ good _ man. He deserved much better than the brokenness Hermione had to offer.

  
  


“About Harry?”

  
  


“No, about you! _ You _ are my girlfriend, or at least I think you are. Are you?”

  
  


Hermione nodded, her eyes wide and her heart thumping inside her chest. “Well yeah, yeah I am.”

  
  


“Well, it’s bloody hard to know because you close yourself off in such a way… Let’s be serious right now, Hermione. Do you see a future for us? Do you see us growing old together?”

  
  


She just stood there for a long moment, the two of them in the middle of the sidewalk, everyone else swerving away from them, one or another curious glance being cast their way.

  
  


“I want us to.” She answered him honestly, for once. Eric sighed. “I wish I had your certainty but I’ve been married before and I’ve had my heart broken before and it’s just _ hard _.”

  
  


“You see, I want you more than anything, you’re the most incredible woman… Forgive me if I’m afraid of getting my heart broken because I have cause to believe that I’m falling madly in love with you.”

  
  


There was nothing Hermione could possibly say, good or bad. So she did what women normally did in the movies: she kissed him, her boyfriend, and then they went off to eat lunch; hope, and happiness back in his eyes.

  
  


What Hermione felt inside, however, was an ever-growing feeling of desperation. She desperately wanted to love Eric, it would be so easy to love him and then be happy for the rest of her life. Despite it all, Hermione had seen this movie before, _ hell _, she’d been the star of it, she knew the bloody script by heart.

  
  


_ It _wouldn’t last.

  
  


...

  
  


Neville Longbottom had been under Lily and May’s torture for nearly a half-hour when Harry came out of the kitchen with grilled chicken sandwiches, pumpkin juice for the girls, and nice cool bottles of butterbeer for the adults.

  
  


“Lunch is served! Come on Lily. You too, May!”

  
  


“Is it May, or Matilda?” Neville asked him, considering it was Matilda on her birth certificate, which he as godfather had signed. Neville had play-pink lipstick across his face and glittery butterfly stickers all over his shirt.

  
  


“Matilda, on paper, but we’ve always called her May… It started with my father-in-law.”

  
  


“I like Matilda, it suits her personality, you know, Matilda of England.” Harry chuckled.

  
  


The truth was that every time he saw the name Matilda he thought about Hermione and how she was the first person who ever mentioned this name, first because _ ‘Matilda’ _ was actually her favorite book as a little girl, and second because it was so old-lady like and frumpy it was nice. Harry having used Lily for his eldest, which to him was the most special of names due to his late mum, Matilda was the only other name that felt special enough… Maybe now that his daughter was a bit older he should use it more often.

  
  


“Have you two thanked uncle Neville for the chocolate frogs he brought?”

  
  


“Thank you!” Lily said, with a smile. Out of all the little girls Harry knew, and to be honest, they weren’t that many, Lily was the one who loved chocolate the most. “Uncle Neville, is it true you live in a castle?”

  
  


“Oh, yeah, it is true. The castle I live in is called Hogwarts and it’s a boarding school. Before I became a teacher there your dad and I were students.”

  
  


Lily turned to look at her father, her eyes sparkling. “Daddy, is uncle Neville a witch too?” She whispered to him, though Neville was still able to hear. He couldn’t help but grimace at being called a witch.

  
  


“Umm, he’s a wizard, love. Wizards are _ boy _ witches.”

  
  


“Do you know Teddy?” May asked Neville after she gulped down her juice. 

  
  


“_ Oh yeah! _” Lily exclaimed. “He’s like our older brother but not one hundred percent our brother because we live in different houses.”

  
  


“I do know Teddy, yes. He’s one of my students, though now he prefers to be called Edward. He made Prefect this year.” Neville widened his eyes wearing a silly grin, mocking Teddy’s teenage ways.

  
  


“What’s a _ perfect _?” May asked.

  
  


“A Prefect, darling,” Harry corrected, “he gets to boss on the other students and his job is to keep everyone in line.”

  
  


“Does everyone get to be a Prefect?” Lily asked, “I’d like to be one if it means being the boss!”

  
  


“Do we have another Gryffindor in the making, mate?” Neville asked Harry, with a laugh. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine Perfect one day Lily,” Neville guaranteed, “you’ll have to wait a few years though.”

  
  


“Do you know my friend Bea and her Mummy, Ms. Hermione? They’re witches too!”

  
  


“Of course I know them. Actually, I was just at Hermione’s shop helping with her plants. We’re fixing it up and making it pretty for her birthday in a few days. And I’ve known Bea Bell since she was a baby! I didn’t know you were friends…”

  
  


“We’re best friends,” Lily told him, with a smile. “We’re in the same class.”

  
  


“That’s splendid! Like history repeating itself, Potters and Grangers, eh?” Neville winked, with a grin.

  
  


A few minutes later the girls finished their meal and Harry put on a movie for them, something about singing nuns which they adored. He and Neville were sitting together at the table, a new round of butterbeer to drink, and plenty of time to kill.

  
  


“I’ve brought the books you requested,” Neville told him, pulling them out of his pocket and using his wand to return the old, dusty tomes to their proper sizes. “Madam Pince made an exception for you.”

  
  


“I’ll be sure to write her a thank you note, then.” Harry felt that familiar sensation of nostalgia overcome him, as his fingers touched the spines of the leather-bound books belonging to his old school’s library. Upon opening the cover of the first one, he saw the stamp with the school’s crest. He was instantly reminded of his boyhood days in the library, doing homework, doing research, and just spying on the pretty girls in all his teenage idiocy.

  
  


But there would always be one person these books and that library reminded him of most, and though not physically present, ever since he arrived in England, it was as if she were some kind of omnipresent deity. Harry could perfectly imagine Hermione’s delicate fingers turning the pages of these books, devouring each and every bit of information. He longed for her presence, for her company, for her to be here.

  
  


Neville cleared his throat to call his mate’s attention back to the task at hand. “Harry, I’ve done some reading and I’m certain that practice is what will strengthen your magic core until it returns back to normal. I don’t know about your wand though, you told me you have a special connection to it and would like to keep it, if possible, but the wood is far too brittle and holly wood is particularly delicate.”

  
  


“No hopes there, then?” Harry asked, sadly, although it was exactly what he’d been expecting to hear.

  
  


Neville shrugged and shook his head. “Have you tried performing spells with a different wand?”

  
  


“Not yet… During the war when Hermione and I were wandless, we used Ron’s. Wasn’t the same but served us just fine.” Harry eyed their already empty bottles of butterbeer and had an idea. “Could I try on yours?”

  
  


“Sure, no problem!”

  
  


Harry grabbed the glass bottles and motioned for Neville to follow him to the small courtyard. Neville took his wand out of his holster and handed it to him.

  
  


Harry shattered a bottle against the stone pavement and then pointed Neville’s wand towards it.

  
  


“_ Reparo!” _ Nothing much happened at first, aside from a couple of shards of glass moving a few inches. “ _ Reparo!” _ He cried out again, his voice much steadier and firm.

  
  


It worked then, slower than it would usually, but it worked nevertheless. Bit by bit the pieces of glass flew back together and molded themselves into a bottle once more.

  
  


Neville was amazed as he watched, clapping his hands. “Didn’t expect it to happen so soon, mate!”

  
  


“Neither did I…” Harry responded. Neville threw the other bottle on the ground and it too broke in hundreds of pieces. “_ Reparo!” _ Harry cast and once again the pieces mended back, though slightly faster than the last time.

  
  


“A different spell this time?” Neville suggested, “do you think you can levitate it?”

  
  


Harry stared at the bottle for a long time, hoping he’d be successful. Just being able to perform those simple spells on Neville’s wand made him feel energized in a way that he hadn’t felt in years. He felt happy, excited, and just… He felt like the Harry he once was.

  
  


“Wingardium Leviosa!” Harry shouted out the spell, only for it to fail.

  
  


A memory sprang to the forefront of his mind. It was the vision of a smug and exasperated little girl sitting in professor Flitwick’s class. She had brown bushy hair and lovely eyes. He still remembered how her voice sounded at just twelve-years-old: _ “It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the ‘gar’ nice and long.” _The thought of her made him smile.

  
  


“Win_ gar _dium Leviosa!” Harry cast the spell again. His heart practically soared as he watched the bottle go up and up until it was higher even than Neville.

  
  


He felt a laugh beginning to vibrate in his chest until he couldn’t help himself. His heartbeat was incredibly fast as the adrenaline coursed through his veins. The bottle came crashing down but Harry didn’t care. Tears filled his eyes and all the emotion he suddenly felt was just _ too _ overwhelming, however, in a good way. Harry Potter felt _ alive _ in a way that he hadn’t since leaving home so many years ago.

  
  


“Are you all right there, mate?” Neville asked though he couldn’t help the smirk forming on his face from watching Harry’s reaction.

  
  


“Nev, I haven’t felt this ‘all right’ for a very long time.”

  
  


“Practice is vital and you should keep doing it every day. Perhaps a trip to Ollivander’s to see about a new wand?” Neville suggested with a grin.

  
  


“I don’t know how to thank you…”

  
  


“Well, I do.” Neville retorted. “Come with me to Hermione’s birthday party this Thursday evening.”

  
  


“I haven’t been invited.” Neville rolled his eyes.

  
  


“That’s because she’s still pissed with you, you know how stubborn she is. Just show up and be your brilliant self, enjoy your old friends who will all be there…”

  
  


“Everyone?” Neville nodded.

  
  


“It’ll be like _ truly _ coming back won’t it?” Neville shrugged.

  
  


“Prove to her that you won’t leave again, Harry, and then you’ll see that everything will fall into place.”

  
  


“When did you get so wise?”

  
  


“You know me… Hopeless romantic is what I am.” Neville chuckled. “But I think you knew that already, deep down, or you wouldn’t have moved to Amberley of all places. We both know you could’ve just returned to London and set up camp at Grimmauld.”

  
  


Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He returned the wand to Neville. “She’s the love of my life, Nev.”


	9. Come Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of The Beatles' song titles or lyrics mentioned in this story. They are simply my favorite band and I've been listening to their music non-stop all week.

_ Chapter Nine:  _

Come Together

  
  


The first thing Harry Potter felt once he opened his eyes was the soreness of his neck. His vision was blurry because at some point his glasses had slipped off and he was too groggy and stiff to reach out for them. Instead of laying in the comfort of his bed with his glorious goose-feather pillows, he’d fallen asleep on top of the dusty old books Neville had brought from the Hogwarts library. He groaned inwardly, hoping that he hadn’t drooled over or wrinkled any pages, otherwise his life would be seriously threatened by the ever-unmerciful Madam Pince.

“Daddy?” He finally managed to sit up, his back now also aching once he heard Lily calling him from the doorway. She was already dressed in her school uniform but as usual, needed his help to button up the bright red cardigan. “Were you studying?” She asked as she leaned closer into him. 

  
  


Harry gave her a little kiss on the head and slipped on his glasses. “ _ Oh _ , yes. Yes, I was Lilybug. Help me set up for breakfast?” He expertly buttoned her up as Lily nodded with a smile. “Hmm, someone’s in need of a haircut…” Lily groaned, hopping away from him with her green eyes as wide as saucers. 

  
  


His eldest daughter had grown out of her bangs and chin-length bob and Harry had been quite neglectful of the raven locks the poor girl had inherited from him, and that were beginning to pass her shoulders. It amazed him how much she’d grown this year. It seemed like just yesterday he was holding her for the first time in his arms.

  
  


Lily Cordelia Potter had come into the world a beautiful, red-faced, feisty little thing who upon arrival had completely washed away any possibility of her Daddy ever running back home to England. The minute Harry had laid eyes on his daughter he knew that his life and existence would from then on revolve solely around her. He’d finally understood the reason why his mother had done what she’d done so that he could live, and that moment of reckoning had struck him like an avalanche.

  
  


Harry took out the bread from the box while Lily fetched the jar of Nutella and a butterknife from the cabinet. He put the kettle on and poured some milk into an aluminum cup to warm it up while Lily, as they did most mornings to get them all in a good mood (and also because back in Canada he’d been one of those nostalgic Brits), turned on the CD player.  _ ‘The Beatles’ _ began to play loud, the music being carried all the way upstairs where May was still asleep. Father and daughter began to twist and sway around the kitchen as they set the table and sang along to  _ ‘I want to hold your hand’ _ at the top of their lungs.

  
  


Minutes later, the sound of someone arriving via Floo came in from the living room. It was still something Lily was getting used to, but that to her happiness had proven that  _ yes _ , Father Christmas  _ did _ exist, unlike that horrible Alfie Houghton had said to her.

  
  


“G’ morning, mate!” Ron said as he waltzed in, grabbing himself a mug from the cabinet without invitation. “Hello, Tigerlily, you ‘bout ready for school?” When Lily turned around to look at him and respond, Ron stole her toast with the simple wave of a wand. Lily huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, a big pout on her face.

  
  


Harry chuckled at the scene while Ron munched on the toast, delighting in the chocolatey goodness. “Bloody hell mate! I’m never eating Marmite on my toast again!” Ron exclaimed, piling a plate with four or five new slices of toast and spreading a lot more Nutella over them than was possibly healthy or polite.

“Here Lily, have another. I’m afraid Uncle Ron has the tendency to leave his manners at home.” Harry set another warm piece of toast on her plate and helped her spread Nutella on it.

  
  


“So, George and Angie are at the shop for the morning and I’m only due in after lunch for my shift… You really gonna talk to the old nutter?”

  
  


“Yes, the faster I can get a new wand and just practice my magic, things will be just as they were.”

  
  


“So, I’m looking after this older one, right?” Ron asked, pointing his thumb towards Lily who was finishing her milk.

  
  


“No, Lily’s going to school today. You’re looking after May.”

  
  


“Matilda.”

  
  


“May.” Harry retorted.

  
  


Lily slipped away from the kitchen to gather her school supplies and brush her teeth.

  
  


“Her name is Matilda mate, I was there for the christening. Don’t even get me started on  _ bloody _ May… You know as well as I do that it’s when it all ended and you know just  _ how _ it ended.”

  
  


Ron’s comment made Harry pause for a long moment. The name May had become so attached to his daughter that sometimes he forgot the month it represented and what that month in question meant in his life and all their lives. Ron had lost a brother on May 2nd and on May 2nd Harry himself had nearly died while fulfilling the prophecy to kill the Dark Lord.  _ Merlin.  _ It felt like another life entirely, like a very vivid dream or a movie. Yet, sitting here in his kitchen in Amberley, face to face with the ginger man he called his best friend, it was all frighteningly real and true.

  
  


“Well,  _ Matilda _ should be coming down any minute now… She slept a bit later than usual yesterday. When she gets up make sure she eats and brushes her teeth please, and comb her hair! It gets terribly tangled during the night and she ends up looking like an even more disheveled version of Pippi Longstocking."

  
  


“Pippi, who?” Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. He should’ve known the reference to the children’s book character would be way beyond his friend’s minimal knowledge of muggle culture.

  
  


“Anyway, I should be back before lunch.” Harry heard Lily calling him all the way from the front door and got up to leave. He gave Ron a pat on the shoulder goodbye before driving off in his car.

  
  


…

  
  
  


Hermione was just helping one of The Bewitchery’s first clients of the day with ingredients for a batch of the _Draught of Peace_ potion, when she saw from the corner of her eyes the image of Harry Potter himself crossing her shop and climbing up the stairs to the _restricted_ _section_. She quickly finished giving Mrs. Marsh her ingredients and directed her towards her mother who was on cashier duty today. Hermione ran as quickly as she could after Harry, up the stairs, and onto the landing that either led wizarding clients to Castle Crescent, up to the second floor or through the fireplace straight into Diagon Alley.

  
  


When she arrived she was gasping for air because the stairs were so goddamn steep. To her dismay Harry was already gone, green smoke floating about in his wake.

  
  


“ _ Stupid idiot, _ ” she muttered to herself, straightening her blouse in front of one of the mirrors, her curls out of place. “What on Earth is he up to?”

  
  


Hermione’s odd behavior didn’t go unnoticed by her mother, whose hawk-like eyes caught every little thing that happened on the main floor, having learned with time to even recognize and notice some magic  _ tricks _ here and there.

  
  


“Please don’t tell me you’re caught up in Harry Potter all over again…” Rosalind said with her voice low and her eyes sharp, her hand wrapping tightly around her daughter’s wrist. “Don’t ruin all the good things you’ve built for yourself, Hermione.”

  
  


Hermione wasn’t the least bit fazed by her mother or her words, “Mum, I love you, but this is my life and I live it as I see fit.” With that, she freed herself from Rosalind’s grip, turned around, and all but stormed off to her office.

  
  


Hermione’s main task of the day was to start doing the numbers right away because next Monday they had to stock up again. Nevertheless, all she could think about was Harry Potter. Her mind was plagued with thoughts of magicless Harry Potter getting lost via floo; Harry Potter  _ successfully _ traveling by floo; Harry Potter doing things  _ without _ her help, and Merlin forbid, Harry Potter giving up on everything and returning home to Canada.

  
  


What in Merlin’s name was that infuriating man doing? Was he trying to get himself killed again? Why was he trying to get himself killed again without her there to save him or be the one to finally murder him? Because Merlin knew she could. The git.

  
  


And just like that, she knew that an entire morning’s productivity had gone to bust. There was only one thing in life Hermione Granger hated more than failure and it was the simple act of  _ not knowing what she wanted to know _ . She leaned back into her chair, pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long and heavy sigh.

  
  


She was  _ fucked _ . There was no better way to put it.

  
  


…

  
  


Diagon Alley was just as Harry remembered it but at the same time incredibly different. There were new shops, for one, and many more options in eateries and businesses. Still, the path to Ollivander’s shop was as he remembered it, the same winding cobblestone road that took him two blocks down to a brick building with round glass window showcases that towered up. Ollivander’s was still written at the front in elegant golden lettering. When he walked inside a little bell went on and before that wave of full-on gut-wrenching nostalgia could hit, the old man appeared from the back of the shop. He looked the same, not a day younger and not looking a day older from what Harry remembered.

  
  


When Ollivander’s silvery eyes landed on Harry, they widened with recognition. Harry thought he even saw the hint of a smile.

  
  


“Harry Potter… So it’s true, you’re back.”

  
  


“You seem well, sir.” Ollivander shrugged, putting away some boxes back into the shelves.

  
  


“Are you in need of a wand?”

  
  


“I am, yes.” Ollivander nodded and motioned for Harry to show him his hands.

  
  


Ollivander’s were warm and a bit dry, callused from his years of shaping wood. He examined and prodded at Harry’s hands, a frown settling on his face.

  
  


“107-years-old I am and I’ve never seen a wizard not use his magic or his wand. Many might not notice but I can see it from your hands. They are not marked by bearing a wand. Or is wandless magic your thing now?”

  
  


“No magic in roughly ten or eleven years, actually…” Ollivander raised an eyebrow, his eyes demonstrating to Harry just how shocked he was.

  
  


“Were you in prison? Your mother would have been deeply displeased…”

  
  


Harry shook his head. “I married a muggle and moved to Canada, after a while, I just  _ stopped. _ ”

  
  


“Very well then… I will go on to assume that your wand is little more than dust now.” Harry grimaced, confirming the old man’s suspicions. “It’s what happens when they stop being used. It’s what happens when a wand’s master dies also. You died to your wand, Harry, and your magic should be dying to you.”

  
  


“I managed to cast some spells with a friend’s wand…”

  
  


“That’s a good sign, not all hope is lost then. Shall we try to find you a new one then?”

  
  


Harry all of a sudden felt like his eleven-year-old self again, holding and grasping at wand after wand after wand, none of which felt suitable. Obviously their first attempt had been with one in the equal dimensions, wood, and core as his original wand but it hadn’t been the right fit anymore.

  
  


“Throughout life, who we are changes and so does our compatibility with our wand. Wands tend to mold themselves around who we are, evolving with us through time. I’m afraid ten years’ worth of lack of usage means yours hasn’t been able to do that.” Ollivander explained, “and now you’re both totally incompatible.”

  
  


It was another twenty minutes before Harry felt a sudden spark of connection with a wand. He noticed it was fashioned like one he’d seen before, and consisted of light-colored wood with delicate engravings of vines climbing up to the tip. The size felt good and natural to him, and so did the weight, all very similar in dimensions to his old wand.

  
  


Ollivander laughed with excitement, “11 inches long, vine wood and phoenix feather core. Yet another delightfully baffling combination.”

  
  


“Another?”

  
  


“Every wand, as you may remember, has a pair. Your original wand was a match for the one belonging to that  _ old chap we don’t like _ . This one also has a pair.”

  
  


“Do I know who it belongs to?” Ollivander smiled that slightly deranged smile of his and waved his hand with a flourish.

  
  


“You’ll find out soon enough, not as unpleasant as with the first wand, I guarantee you.” Harry nodded. “Now, you said you attempted some spells with someone else’s wand. What kind of spells were they?

  
  


“The reparo, the Lumos, and the levitating one.”

  
  


“All basic. Did they come effortlessly?” 

  
  


Harry shook his head. “I had to try several times to get them to work, the levitating one seemed easier, I don’t know why, and I felt this large surge of energy.”

  
  


“Having a new wand won’t mean your magic will be what it once was, Mr. Potter.” Ollivander’s expression was very serious now as he warned the younger wizard. “You are born with a magical core but that doesn’t mean it’s there forever. Your magic can diminish until it ceases to exist. It’s practicing magic constantly, on a daily basis that nurtures the core and keeps it strong. If you stop it weakens and it may take a long time for it to return to what it was, years even. I’ve never seen it applied, but us wandmakers are privy to information that others aren’t privy to and there is a way to make your magical core strengthen and renew itself.”

  
  


Harry’s interest was piqued, “What way would that be?”

  
  


“You need a boost of sorts, someone else’s magic connects with your magic and restores it. I’m not talking about a friend or some random witch or wizard. If you’re lucky enough to find such a person, you may or may not be lucky enough to get that boost in the first place.”

  
  


“What is the boost?”

  
  


Ollivander just laughed, his eyes twinkling: "Well, I certainly don't know, my lad! You're the first wizard I've ever seen give up his magic! Not even the bastards in Azkaban do that. When you find out, come back and tell me yeah?" He then gave Harry’s shoulder a pat. “That’ll be seven galleons, son.”

  
  


…

  
  


Ron Weasley slid onto the floor in utter defeat. The child was quiet and a saint near her father, but the minute Harry had turned around and left Turtledove Cottage, the house had become a war zone, and the back of the sofa Ron’s trenches.

  
  


It had all started at breakfast. Matilda had come down with her ginger hair in knots just as Harry said it’d be. She was adorably clad in her yellow-ducky pajamas, and Ron had managed to turn on the muggle telly just fine, lucky that something called ‘Masha and the Bear’ was on.

  
  


After quite a few minutes, Ron who wasn’t a stranger to mischief and trouble found ‘Masha and the Bear’ an utterly  _ atrocious _ programme, full of the worst possible examples… Within the five minutes following the end of the episode, Ron came to the conclusion that he was the Bear and Matilda, or May, or little Monster as she now was to him, was the home-wrecking, heart-stopping, absolutely vile and sadistic little girl.

  
  


Ron’s whole undoing turned out to be the little Monster’s lack of interest in oatmeal, porridge, or even corn flakes cereal this morning. Instead, he had watched her stuff her face with the rest of the Nutella, three or four chocolate frogs she found somewhere else in the house, and a full tin of sweetened supermarket peaches. The poor sod that he was, Ron had no idea of the appalling creature that would arise from such toxic combinations.

  
  


Matilda stripped off her clothing, running around the house like some sort of wild chicken in just her cotton undies, tangled bright-ginger hair like flames on her head as she knocked into objects and brought down books, boxes, trinkets, frames, lamps, as she passed, as reckless and destructive as a Tasmanian Devil if ever there was one. The objects all littered the floors of the cottage, while shards of glass and porcelain risked entering May’s socked feet.

  
  


Ron didn’t even have the time to thank the gods and the elements for the fact that he and Luna had no intention to be parents before Matilda’s voice just became loud shrieks and high-pitched screams that almost pierced through his eardrums. All that Ron could do as she continued to run like mad was draw his wand and charm the kitchen cabinets and doors not to open, to avoid her taking out the knives to finally murder him.

  
  


When he saw that she had gone running toward the broom closet he crawled to the fireplace as fast as he could to call the only person he could think of that might be able to save his sorry arse.

  
  


“HERMIONE!!!!!” He screamed into the fireplace and therefore into the fireplace in her office, startling Hermione from where she’d been trying, without success, to distract herself with her papers.

  
  


“What the fuck, Ronald!” She cried out, her eyes wide.

  
  


“She’s gonna kill me, come help me for Merlin’s sake!”

  
  


Because there were certain battle reflexes that one gained and never lost from experience with war, Hermione jumped into the floo with her wand drawn only to seconds later find herself in the familiar surroundings of Harry’s living room, or what was left of it.

  
  


“What’s happening? Where are Harry and his daughters?”

  
  


Ron was once again behind the sofa and before he could answer Hermione heard a clattering of metal pots and pans coming from the kitchen. With her wand drawn and her mouth just about to cast a  _ stupify, _ she halted at the sight of May Potter in a way that she had never seen the little girl before.

  
  


May did Hermione the courtesy of stopping from where she was halfway up the stove, her cheeks stained with chocolate and her hands visibly sticky and dirty with goo. Her hair was an utter bird’s nest of a mess as Hermione saw her gasp.

  
  


A long stare-contest came and went before Hermione Granger pursed her lips and brought her hands to her hips.

  
  


“ _ May Potter, _ ” She said slowly and sternly, her eyes dead serious and her voice as chilling as angry mothers’ voices went. “Get down from that cabinet  _ immediately _ .” May just blinked at her, unable to react. “This instant, May!”

  
  


Hermione took a step forward and the little girl, afraid of the consequences, climbed down from the stove as quickly as she could, staring down at the stone tiles. Before Hermione could say or do anything else May began sniffling, beginning to cry and wail.

  
  


“Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” Hermione’s voice softened considerably, “don’t you know your Uncle Ron is terrified of you in the other room?” 

  
  


May just sniffled, tears streaming down her cheeks, before pointing her finger up at Hermione, her head still low. It was then that Hermione saw a drop of blood escaping a small cut.

“Oh, but frankly, the audacity of you!” Hermione huffed before pulling May into her arms and carrying her across the kitchen, past the living room, and a still shell-shocked Ronald before heading up the stairs, making a beeline for the bath.

  
  


…

  
  


It was precisely 11 o’clock when Harry arrived home to Ron lying with a cloth over his forehead, his face quite pale, accentuating all his freckles, in a living room that was just about in tatters. The garden door was wide open from where he could see and his youngest daughter was nowhere to be seen.

  
  


“Ron!” His friend at first didn’t budge. “Ron, are you all right? Where’s May?”

  
  


“She’s…  _ Somewhere _ , mate. Honestly… Never doing this again. And I thought Freddie was a nightmare...”

  
  


Harry checked the kitchen and May wasn’t there. He checked the garden and the broom closet, also to no avail. He ran up the stairs only to see the bathroom door wide open and the sounds of splashes and talking coming from inside. He heard a giggle, his daughter’s giggle, and when he peeked inside he thought he might faint from utter surprise. 

  
  


There, kneeled at the foot of the tub, her knees resting on the rug, was the one and only Hermione Granger. Her curls were pulled back into a ponytail that did little to hold in all of her curls and her clothes were damp. She was gently rubbing a soapy washcloth against May’s skin, while his daughter’s ginger hair was covered in white shampoo suds, hazel eyes bright and cheerful as she played with a doll and a plastic toy boat.

  
  


“I’m guessing the mess downstairs wasn’t an attack of the Wrackspurts…” Harry said softly, a chuckle falling from his lips.

  
  


Hermione snorted, the corners of her lips curving upwards as her eyes met his.

  
  


“Sugar rush of legendary proportions. She had Ron nearly  _ shitting _ himself.” Hermione whispered the  _ shitting _ part to him so that May wouldn’t hear.

  
  


“Oh, Matilda…” He sighed, shaking his head.

  
  


“Daddy!” She exclaimed, a wide grin on her face as she saw him, “I’m a shark!”

  
  


“I can see that…” His eyes then traveled back to Hermione, whose smile had faltered a bit.

  
  


“You named her Matilda…” She trailed off, looking at May and pinching her cheek playfully. “I’ve always loved that name.”

  
  


“I know… I guess it grew on me with time.” Hermione nodded.

  
  


“Bea was almost a Matilda but when I looked at her she didn’t look the part… I don’t know why… Newborns all look the same.” She scoffed. “I love Beatrice just as much though, it was my granny’s name.”

  
  


“It’s in my eye!” May informed Hermione, gesturing towards the shampoo suds that were still on her head. 

  
  


Hermione turned on the tap water and poured the water over her head, washing it off expertly, careful so that none of it would get into her eyes. “You were terrible to Uncle Ron,  _ Matilda _ . I expect you to apologize.

  
  


“ _ Okay… _ ” The little girl responded distractedly.

  
  


A good fifteen minutes later they’d gotten her dry and into freshly-laundered clothes. May went downstairs to make amends with her equally redheaded uncle, while Harry and Hermione stayed there, feet firmly rooted to the wooden floorboards in hers and Lily’s shared bedroom.

  
  


“I-I was a complete and total… I was way out of line the last time, I’m sorry.” Harry ran those nervous fingers of his through his already messy hair, before running them through his slightly outgrown beard.

  
  


Her eyes were sharp as she looked at him.

  
  


“Well, you certainly know how to piss a witch off…” 

  
  


Harry scoffed, his gaze finally meeting hers. “Having you so close again, it just… It reminded me of what could have been,  _ hell _ , what  _ should _ have been… I was a complete idiot and I know it. It’s none of my business who you choose to be with or who you like in  _ that _ way...” He began to ramble, his cheeks growing a bright crimson as he embarrassed himself further.

  
  


He watched as she averted her gaze, burying her hands in her pockets, biting those lips of hers in the way she always did when nervous.

  
  


“ _ HARRY! _ ” They both nearly jumped upon hearing Ron’s voice coming from downstairs. “HOW WAS IT WITH THE OLD NUTTER?”

  
  


Hermione looked at Harry, her expression having changed into one of pure interest. She was reminded of her dilemma of hours ago, worrying sick about him, something that she knew was a long-standing staple of their relationship.

  
  


“Ollivander?” She asked, raising an eyebrow, genuinely interested, and genuinely relieved for the change of subject.

  
  


Harry nodded. “Come on, we can have some tea and sandwiches while I tell you both… And show you my new wand.” Hermione found that his smile was contagious.

  
  


…

  
  


Hermione gave Harry a little shove as she squeezed past him through the doorway. She tried and failed to ignore the butterflies in her stomach, as well as that annoying warm feeling that spread throughout her being whenever she was close to him. May,  _ Matilda _ , followed her like a loyal duckling as she stepped onto the little garden path to the sidewalk, about to head home for a couple of hours before it was time to fetch Bea from school. Maybe she’d finally light a scented candle or two and soak in her tub with a good book.

  
  


“So, until Thursday evening, I suppose. If we don’t see each other again before the party that is…” Hermione trailed off, biting her bottom lip.

  
  


“You know, today finally felt like I truly returned home.” He admitted, “We’re quite the trio, aren’t we? All of us are beyond different, yet we clicked somehow…”

  
  


“The  _ Golden _ trio, as they say…” She agreed, with a gentle smile, before breaking into song: “ _ Come together, right now, over me… _ ”

  
  


“Oh! I remember that one!” He said with a smile. “We did come together.”

  
  


“I gave you that album for Christmas before you left. I couldn’t believe you’d never listened to The Beatles before I introduced them to you. Ron not knowing was understandable, but you…” She shook her head, rolling her eyes.

  
  


“I still have it, and a few others too.”

  
  


“Then do me a favor and listen to this one,” she retorted with her eyes piercing his own, “ _ Don’t let me down! Don’t let me down! _ ” she sang dramatically, laughing as she did.

  
  


Harry himself couldn’t help but laugh, though the words and the unsaid things, the warning meant for him were all impossible to ignore.

  
  


And then, just like  _ that _ , Hermione disappeared with a loud crack, while he was left there utterly dumbfounded.

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to leave a comment if you like the story! There's nothing more motivating for us writers!


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